#the way it's like painted on a rock but then the rock splits up and moves

[front-facing-pokemon]

[blkkizzat]

❛ MY SHORTY ALWAYS ON SOME BULLSHIT LIKE CHICAGO ❜

PART 2

part of the 420 'We Be Burnin' series

⋙ MENU ITEM: PLUG!CHOSO x SORORITYBRAT!READER ⋙ PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 (completed)

⋙ product description (summary): okay so you finally realized how badly you fucked up. but is it too late? will choso even talk to you now? has he moved on for good or is it that you now have to worry about someone else moving onto him? ⋙ side effects (tw): more drama. more angst. teasing. jealousy. thirsting. mentions of sex and oral sex. intoxication with drug & alcohol use. sending nudes. y/n is still a brat. bitchy sorority sisters. party culture. ⋙ thc levels (wc): 8.2k of 22.1k ⋙ inventory notes (a/n): best viewed in dark mode. i appreciate y'all liking this sm hope you don't mind i split this up more, but the second part was getting too unruly in length lol

Plug!Choso who you thought forgetting about would be relatively easy. Overwhelmed with the sheer amount of new presidential duties, you had no shortage of various meetings to keep you occupied. Even so, Choso had a way of popping into your mind as the most routine things would remind you of him. 

You couldn’t go get a fresh set of nails without expecting to see his tinted blacked-out sedan parked outside waiting for you. Scrolling socials had also become annoying as you’d see a post and immediately want to send it to Choso— your sorority sisters would think you were gross if you sent them mukbang videos. You couldn’t even bake anything anymore, especially anything chocolate, without reminding yourself of how much Yuji hated nuts in his chocolate chip cookies. 

Or even now when you had been walking across campus with your sisters and chatting about the massive proposal plan of next year’s sorority activities. A daunting task on its own which you had to submit to your national chapter by the end of the month. In fact, there were a lot of tedious things you realized you’d now be responsible for as president. 

However, all of that flew out of your mind when a car sped by blasting a familiar rock song— one that Choso always played. 

Stopping in your tracks you whipped your head around but the music was coming from a completely different car. The disappointment in your chest felt like you were suffocating.

The song was the first one from Choso’s ‘stoner emo boy playlist’ that you’d actually admitted you liked so he made sure to play it whenever you came around. You didn’t think you were official enough to have a song, but it felt like you did when you’d heard it just now. 

Although what pained you more in the moment was the fact Choso hadn’t even bothered to text you since the day of the brunch. Your pride and guilt kept you from texting him initially but after the first week you caved and did what you once thought was unthinkable— texting a guy first. 

You’d thought he’d answer instantly, happy you’d finally forgiven him for nearly ruining your brunch and you did want to apologize for missing Yuji’s game. But when 20 minutes turned into an hour and an hour turned into the entire day you realized he was ignoring you.

Choso was a dealer. 

He always had his phone on him. In fact, Choso used to respond to you so fast you wondered if he’d always kept your messages up on his screen.

The seriousness hits home when more of your texts go unanswered as the days go by. 

You huffed. 

Two weeks had passed since you first reached out and apparently Choso was still giving you the cold shoulder. Unconsciously chewing on your manicured french tips, your intrusive thoughts paint the absolute worst scenarios. 

This was around the time of day he’d usually be on campus and you’d meet up in the empty garage. 

Would he be there now doing another deal? 

Or giving ‘discounts’ to another girl?

You shook your head. Choso wasn’t like that. 

You knew he wasn’t.

Then again he had stuffed your guts in less than 10 minutes of knowing each other.

But you were the exception right? Choso wouldn’t move on just like that, would he? 

Rejection wasn’t something you had dealt with often in your life or well, ever. 

You’d gotten everything you wanted since you were little whether it was something you worked for or something given to you. 

So what if you didn’t have Choso?

You should be content with life. 

You had everything you’d ever wanted right now. 

You were pretty, got damn near perfect grades and now had the title of sorority president for fuckssake! 

Meeting someone like Choso was never part of your plans and didn’t fit into them either, so you had never really considered what the both of you were to be anything long-term. 

Nor did you ever stop to consider what he thought of your relationship. 

You thought he’d lick his wounds for a few days and forgive you. However with each passing day the thought he might really be done with you sinks in more and more.

Regardless of the legion of frat guys who would jump at the chance to date you, the only guy you really wanted right now apparently wanted fuck all to do with you. 

Ok so maybe you deserve the silent treatment. 

A lot. 

You never been that big of a bitch to him before. But you really had panicked when he showed up out of the blue with your parents on the way! Also if he didn’t go and threaten the DJ like he did???

You sighed. 

No, even under more peaceful circumstances the end result was you weren’t going to leave to go to Yuji’s game. You couldn’t blame him for being furious with you as you knew how protective he was of his younger brother but you at least wish he’d hear you out.

Just for one last time and maybe you could make it up to Yuji too? 

Get him a nice gift for missing his little league game and bake him chocolate chip cookies—without the nuts. You wanted to hear him adorably ramble on which would always be accompanied by animated hand movements while he gave you the rundown. Yuji often roped in Choso as well, who would be all too happy to play whatever role or prop Yuji needed him for. 

Their identical grins, goofy and filled with joy never failed to put a smile on your face. A smile which came easy as there was never any demands put on you when you were with them. No pretending for the sake of appearances, no worrying about social standing and no expectations for favors. 

With them you were just you and they had accepted you.

But had you accepted them? 

Shit. 

Yeah you had fucked up big. 

You knew you needed to talk to Choso and if you weren’t all but certain Choso would slam the door in your face, you’d have half a mind to go pop up at his house. 

Although maybe if Yuji ans—

“—Like HELLO!? Earth to Prez!”

Your train of thought abruptly comes to an end when one of your sorority sisters—Brianna—rudely snaps their fingers in your face. 

Bitch. 

She’d been bitter ever since she’d lost the presidency to you. 

Elections were over so you didn't have to worry about staying on everyone's good side like you had been doing for the last 3 years of being super sweet and non confrontational. Even so, snatching up a fellow sister certainly wouldn’t make a good impression for a newly appointed president.

“What IS it Brie!?” 

Turning to face her you had no choice but to keep your cool.

“Don’t give me attitude! You’re the one not paying attention, space case.”  

Brianna huffed accusingly. 

“Yeah, Brie’s kinda right Prez, you’ve been a little bit distracted lately.” 

Another one of your sisters chimed in—immediately looking down when your eyes narrowed on her.

“Don't tell me the pressure is already getting to ‘Little Miss Legacy'? Or—”

Brianna flips her hair with a sly smile before continuing.

“—is it just that you miss your burnout stalker boy?” 

“E-Excuse me!?”

Extremely disarmed by the allegation, you were not expecting in a million years the very person you were thinking of to be brought up like this by Brianna of all people. 

“You know—you’ve been acting off since the brunch a few weeks ago and we used to be practically swimming in za—way more o’s than we paid for. You must have been doing something to get all that from that future convict and he must be pretty pissed with you if you haven’t been able to get anymore since.”

The rest of your sisters were gagged at the accusations Brianna was tossing your way as it was true that your supply had been dwindling. Their eyes darted between the two of you but mostly focused on you waiting for your response. 

You ignore them though as all your ire was on Brianna.

This whore had some fucking nerve speaking about Choso like that. 

The thought of knocking the smug look off Brianna’s face is almost too tempting —presidency be damned. 

Yet your own guilt stops you.

Too little, much too late for you to be standing up for Choso now the way you had dismissed him so harshly in front of Brianna and the rest of your sisters just a few weeks ago. You could only be mad at yourself, your own actions showed them how to treat Choso.

That didn’t mean you were going to let her get away with it without a proper lashing though. 

“Listen—Brie, Little Miss Legacy is busy juggling the presidency, a 3.8 gpa, volunteer work and planning every goddamn sorority event worth attending. As for you? Well I heard you’d been pretty busy these days juggling your creepy ass T.A. Noaya’s balls because you were going to fail Biology again for the third time—so do you really want to talk about pressure or whose fucking whom for what?”

Standing up for yourself wasn’t something you ever did in an effort to be likable and so Briana, as well as the rest of your sisters, were stunned into silence. 

Even if her fucking for grades had been no secret, it wasn’t something anyone talked about out loud and yet you’d gladly air her out again for insulting Choso.

“Urgh, whatever! Anyways while you were daydreaming we were planning Jeremy's birthday party on Saturday.”

You rolled your eyes at the inattention to some random frat guy’s bday being the reason for this whole confrontation.  

“Oookay and—?”

“—and we need you to get some more za from your stalk— er um, I mean your plug...” 

Brianna quickly corrects herself seeing your eyes flare.  

“Jermey wants a joint filled pinata and we don’t have nearly enough right now to roll all those joints.”

You suck your teeth in annoyance. 

Of course it all had to come back around to Choso.

“I’m not talking to him right now. We’ll find someone else.” 

Well it was half true, more like he wasn’t talking to you. 

You tried not to pout and completely give yourself away at how much it really was affecting you.

“Well start again, Prez! You know his stuff is the best!”

“We already promised everyone we’d have it!” 

“Please Prez!”

The rest of your sorority sisters chimed in.  

“Yeah Prez it shouldn’t be a problem. Send him an ass pic or something, I bet he would respond to that.” 

The rest of your sisters giggled in agreement. 

Little did they know you had already sent Choso nudes 8 days ago, which when you checked Snap last just 10 minutes ago he still hadn’t opened yet. 

You’d die before admitting that though.

“Fine. I’ll figure it out.” 

“Knew you would Prez!” 

Brianna tossed you a fake smile as she turned around and your sisters followed suit walking back towards the sorority house. The chatter now moves on to drink options as the previous conversation is instantly forgotten. 

You still flip the bitch off behind her back though before you catch up to join the conversation lest these dumb bitches skimp out on drinks for more decorations and have you all drinking Monarch vodka again—gross, much more so than a mukbang video.

Plug!Choso who later that night has you laying on your bed staring at your phone suspended over you, your finger hovering over the send button. 

What if he ignored you this time too? 

Worse—what if he had finally blocked you?

Well all your messages had gone through so far even though his read receipts were off. 

Choso hadn’t blocked you yet. 

Only two days had passed since you last texted him but scrolling through your history the wall of blue taking over the entire screen had you feeling vexed.

Hadn’t Choso punished you enough? 

Biting your lip in apprehension you hit send. 

You almost dropped your phone on your face. Sitting up in your bed you stare at his text incredulously as the sticker shock of Choso jacking up the price by $150 hits you.

You deserved that, you supposed. 

But fuck you knew you’d have to come up out of pocket yourself for the extra and you couldn’t admit to your sisters why the price had gone up so much again.

At least he was answering you though. 

You threw your phone across your bed. 

Well that went super. 

You’d hope you’d have the chance to talk about things while he was responding to you, maybe get him to video call you? You knew he still wouldn’t be thrilled with you but you didn’t expect his responses to be that short once he finally answered. 

Choso always over texted you if anything, sending paragraphs at times so these clipped messages were like tiny daggers pricking you with each one you received.  

You didn’t think you could handle him being mean to you like this for much longer. 

Getting a taste of your own medicine fucking sucked.

With a sigh you had decided to push it to the back of your mind. It was Tuesday and he wasn’t even coming until Friday.

That’s when you realized Choso implied he was coming to you. 

As in your sorority house. 

On Friday. 

The night of the Barbie’s Dreamhouse Kegger. 

Goddamnit.

Plug!Choso who shows up to your sorority house on Friday night just before midnight when the kegger is at its peak. Choso doesn’t give a single fuck this time around that he sticks out like a sore thumb with his dark tattered jeans, matching leather jacket, heavy eyeliner and metal piercings amongst all the colorful and peppy pastel attired party-goers. 

Choso waltzes right through the front door like he owns the place.

“Oh! It's you! Finally!” 

Flipping her hair behind her to show off her ample cleavage, your sorority sister Brianna bounces over to Choso who continues to look past her as his eyes scan the foyer.

To be honest he wasn’t even sure she was talking to him until she mentioned you.

“You’re the plug, right? Choso? Here for Prez, hmm?” 

Brianna appraised Choso with a flirty glance and a smile. 

“I’m Brianna, but everyone calls me Brie. She’s outside with her boys! I’ll take you there, kay?”

Her boys?

Brianna batts her eyes sweetly to complement her peppy demeanor. 

Choso simply nods, appearing unphased as Brianna grabs him by the arm of his jacket to lead him through the sea of people crowding the hall and out to the backyard. The very same backyard where you had rejected and humiliated him to save your own superficial social standing just a few weeks ago. 

Of course he hadn’t forgotten. 

Choso noted this time though the expansive yard had a completely different vibe from the pretentious scene he’d walked into before. The backyard was now filled with pink inflatable decorations and rose gold plastered party supplies, trading the expensive crystal for matching pink solo cups and decorative flower displays for shotskis. 

Yet Choso’s comparisons end once he finally spots you in the crowd. 

Playing beer pong with some frat fucks, carefree like you had zero concerns (or thoughts of him) in the world as you taunted your opponents. 

Choso’s eyes narrow when you—clad in a scandalously small pink sparkly tube top—brought a dainty manicured nail to your chest and seductively dragged it down your cleavage to tug at the hem of the fabric. The tops of your tits swell over the edge of the material provocatively as you tease the chance they might altogether spill out onto the table if you pulled any lower.

The plan worked and your opponents thoroughly distracted missed their shots much to your amused squeals and Choso’s growing irritation. His brow twitched as he noticed the rest of your outfit which barely provided any more coverage. 

The matching mini skirt you wore rested low enough on your curvy hips to show the very edges of your thong but high enough on your thighs that your cheeks were nearly peeking out just from the slight bend you took as you aimed to take your next shot. Your pink jeweled belly ring (that he’d bought you) and gem adorned nude fishnets lead down to chunky hot pink glitter pumps only calling more attention to your lower half as they were illuminated by the outdoor tiki lights.

Why were you dressed like such a slut and letting those greasy shitheads drool all over you? 

Your beer pong partner was clearly exaggerating his drunkenness for an excuse to feel you up as his hand rested dangerously close to the top of your ass as you took your next shot. 

Were you that clueless?

Choso’s jaw clenches as you allow yourself to be pulled in by the shoulder tits first into a celebratory hug after landing a cup off a bounce, thus removing two. The way you’d casually let those assholes gawk and grab at you when you wouldn’t even make eye contact with him in public pisses him off like none other and reminds him why he had decided to cut you off after all.

This time though Choso doesn’t march over, masking his resentment with nonchalance as he considers leaving altogether. 

Sure he needed the money—but it wouldn’t make or break him in the long run. 

Keeping the big picture in mind, Choso had Yuji to think of and he couldn’t afford to catch a case over your slutty ass if he actually gave into the urge to knock some random frat fucker’s teeth out.

Yet Choso switches his attention back to Brianna when she returns with a beer filled cup for him and her sheer top unbuttoned even lower. 

Oh? 

Choso grins. 

Plug!Choso who you finally notice standing near the back door of your sorority house next to—Brianna?!…urgh! 

Her obnoxious high-pitched laughter loudly cut through the music and party chatter to draw your attention over. 

What the hell was Choso even doing with her?! 

You grit your teeth as Choso takes the drink. You watch as he reclines against the house and cheers cups together. Brianna is twirling her hair innocently as she flirts with him, giggling like an idiot. 

One without an ounce of shame at that. 

You seethe as she clutches onto his bicep pulling herself closer and resting her tits on his arm when she pretends to momentarily lose her balance. 

Stupid cunt ass bitch. 

You know it's just to spite you too. 

Of course Brianna still didn’t know of the true nature of your relationship with Choso for certain but a backstabbing whore like her would try to fuck him solely off an inkling. 

If anything just so she could say your ‘stalker’ was now hers.

She was just using him! Did Choso not see that?! 

Your beer pong partner slides his arm around you to tell you it’s your turn again but you don’t even spare him a backwards glance as you shrug him off. Abandoning the game and ignoring his puzzled calls after you. 

Truthfully it doesn’t even register as you are on your warpath with Choso and Brianna in your sights, stomping directly towards them like you were on a mission. You were too, as far as you were concerned, determined to break that shit up expeditiously. 

Especially now as you see Brianna airdropping her contact info to Choso.

Stopping directly in front of them you’re far too tipsy to prevent your souring mood from spreading all over your face when they both seem to not notice you right away.  

You loudly clear your throat.

“AHEM!”

Staring at Choso expectantly your lip curls when it's Brianna who greets you first instead.

“Oh Prez, my B girly! We didn’t notice you there!” 

“Whatever, Brie.”

You sneer at her. 

Although Brianna only giggles again, feigning innocence and leaning into Choso a bit more. 

The whore was still touching up on him.

“I was just keeping Cho here company until we found you.”

Bullshit, they were searching fo– Hol’ the fuck up—CHO?! 

Did this whore just call him Cho?! 

That was your fucking nickname for him! Only you and Yuji were allowed to call him that!

Oh Brianna was just begging for that ass whooping, dying for it even. 

Swaying on your feet, your buzz only intensifies your anger and folding your arms in front of you serves two purposes at the moment: 

To keep your balance as you try to prevent your heels from sinking into the grass— but more importantly— because the urge to yank a bitch was escalating to the point your hands were now twitching. 

You had drank way too much in your nervousness waiting for Choso.  

You thought a quick round of beer pong would settle your anxieties as you’d been hanging out near the front door all day and night not knowing when he’d show up. However time had slipped away from you and one game had turned into three. 

You didn’t even really know the guys you were playing with, just some random freshman!

Of course once you finally let your guard down Choso would not only show up but be hanging out with your biggest opp!

But what really had you about to crack—Choso was taking his sweet time in acknowledging you as he appeared to be more concerned with checking Brianna’s contact info than speaking to you right in front of him. “Ight, got it.” 

Choso confirmed and slid his phone back into his jacket before pulling out a joint as he finally made eye contact with you.

THE FUCK!? HE ACTUALLY SAVED IT?! 

Plug!Choso who stares at you with a condescending smirk as his eyes twinkled with sadistic amusement before exhaling smoke towards the sky.

You bite your cheek to hold back your angry tears, you weren’t about to give Brianna the satisfaction. She could fuck right the hell off as far as you were concerned, only wanting to speak to Choso who was currently looking at you like you were the one interrupting something.

“W-Why didn't you text me you were here?! I would have come outside!” 

Your words fumble out of you drunkenly, not sounding one bit as smooth and unbothered as you hoped.

“For why tho? Don’t you have me silenced anyway, Prez?”

You stiffened. 

Even if he wasn’t silenced right now you couldn’t deny you had previously silenced him before the last few weeks of trying to get him to talk to you. 

“Yea figured—so thought it’d be best to come inside…”

Choso exhales smoke through his nose this time, leering down at you as he passes the joint to Brianna who eagerly takes it.

“You really think I’m still tryna wait for you?”

Choso’s words are crushing as the double meaning behind them is not lost on you. Parting your glossed lips you couldn’t even form a sentence as your mouth had gone completely dry.

Brows raised Choso is practically daring you to challenge him. 

But you’re frozen. 

Ironic, because his eyes are all but intensely burning into yours as his accusingly cruel question penetrated you like a hot knife to butter. 

However, bringing you back, Brianna interrupts the moment—because of course she does—not being able to read the damn room nor handle the attention being away from her for 5 fucking seconds.

“You know Prez… You’re going to be pretty busy with all your responsibilities soon...”

Brianna taps her stiletto shaped nail to her lips in faux contemplation. Her smarmy expression gives away her true intentions resembling every bit of the evil bitch she is. 

“...Annnnnd it won’t look good for our lovely new president to put herself at risk by getting us drugs, right? Sooooo, I was telling Cho here how I’m going to be the one taking over for you now.”

Brianna coyly tucks a few loose strands of her long tawny locks behind her ear. 

“Who knows? I might be able to get a better discount than you too.”

Passing the blunt back to Choso she winks at him. Choso merely chuckles, shaking his head at the implications before taking another hit.

And yeah that’s what fucking did it alright.

More than ready to give Brianna exactly what the fuck she’d been asking for you wordlessly lunge forward to snatch her up by those raggedy ass microlink extensions she couldn’t stop touching.

However your trajectory is thrown when you feel Choso grab you by your wrist. Pulling you in towards him, the action confused both you and Brianna—who didn’t know how close she was to actually kissing dirt.

Choso passes the joint back to Brianna, telling her to keep it as a ‘sample’ he turns his attention back towards you.

“Come on Prez, I got places to be. Get me my money now before I charge your ass the full stack.”

You both leave Brianna standing there dumbfounded as Choso drags you back into the house. 

Plug!Choso guides you through the crowd of your sisters that are all now much too drunk and self-involved in their own good time to care about the pierced n’ scary dark haired man towing their president behind him. 

Reaching the staircase Choso motions for you to go ahead of him and you nod dumbly as you obediently climb the stairs trying not to trip. 

Urging you along, Choso is right on your tail— quite literally, as he tries to simultaneously avoid staring at your ass cheeks jiggling out from under your skirt—but more importantly tries to keep any other wandering eyes below from getting a peek as well. 

Choso places a hand on your waist, both to keep you from falling and to move you along quicker. Warm tingles radiate out from where his hands touch your bare skin yet he instantly releases you once you reach the top.

You can’t help but to pout at the loss of contact.

“Which one?”

Choso still feels all business though as he walks ahead of you like he can’t wait to wrap this up and get you the fuck out of his life again.

Plug!Choso who you usher into your room before closing the door. The party seems distant as only the faint sounds of the base bumping against the walls reach the sanctuary of your room. Still holding the knob you’re leaning with your back against the doorframe as your body is still pumping insane amounts of adrenaline through you. 

Nearly fighting Brianna, Choso finally touching you, on top of being drunk had your mind going into overdrive especially since it seemed like Choso would leave as soon as the deal was over.

Would he really take the money and go just like that?

Choso’s face is unreadable as he strolls deeper into your room and casually looks around. You had always come over to his place and he would have never in a million years dreamed of being able to see your room in your actual sorority house. 

It was so you though. 

Tidy and adorned in your favorite colors, your walls are decorated with pictures of celebrities, friends and various moodboards. Not to mention it smelled like you. The scent of your sugary perfume with notes of vanilla and saffron assaulted Choso's senses making it seem a bit warmer in the room than it actually was.

“Yo Prez, the money.” 

His patience for the situation is dwindling. He has to get out and fast. 

Choso doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t leave soon.

Yet you were plotting the exact opposite and you couldn’t let him leave so easily now that you finally had him alone after all this time. 

Armed with a plan you nod as you scoot by him and over to your vanity to retrieve the cash. Acting clueless as to which drawer you put it in, you search them all as you bend over to check one of the drawers at the very bottom. 

Choso swallows hard.

Your ass–with plenty of curves to spare–is on display for him as well as your sheer pink thong that teasingly pokes out between your crystal studded fishnets. 

You had to be doing this on purpose. 

Swishing side to side your skirt raises up a bit higher with every shift of your hips while your thong strains tighter across the print of your fat pussy lips threatening to snap altogether.

Akin to a seductive pendulum as you sway before Choso completely entrancing him. 

Only you could ever affect him in this way.

After what feels like years do you finally locate the money, a sizable stack of cash composed of 20 dollar bills.

“Found it! In the top drawer all along, imagine that!”

Smirking you plop down in your vanity chair crossing your legs not missing how Choso’s gaze lingered, even if just the tiniest moment, on your thighs.

“Took ya long enough…” 

Choso mumbles. There's no real bite to his words this time though. He’s holding his backpack close to hide his half chub while he removes 3 hefty bags of kush from his backpack to toss on the desk beside you.

Reaching for the cash his annoyance is evident on his face when you jerk away from him. Leaning back and fanning the bills across your chest, you wave them tauntingly in the air.

“Stop playin’ around. Not in the fuckin mood, I swear.”

“Playing?”

You question acting coy.

“This is just business right Choso?”

You sat up as if you were taking this seriously at all and Choso is unamused as he reaches for the money again. 

And you snatch it back yet again like a fucking brat. 

“I’m practically dropping a stack on this–thanks to your new “tax” and all. How do I know if it's any good?”

Clearly your plan is working as you continue to push Choso’s buttons pretending you aren’t excited from him towering over you now.

“Cut the games, Prez. Ya know my shit is always pressure.”

You act contemplative as your eyes lazily travel up his tense muscular form appreciating the view after not seeing him for so long.

“Hmmm, do I though?”

Choso scoffs, growing tired of your games. 

That’s all he ever was to you, a game.

“Like I said, just business. Or are you telling me you weren’t going to count the cash to make sure it's all there before you left?”

Damn. Well you got 'em there. 

Choso rubs the back of his neck before letting out a frustrated sigh.

“Tch—let’s make this quick then, Prez.”

Plug!Choso who after grabbing one of the bags of weed off your vanity takes a seat on your bed. He shrugs off his jacket to retrieve a pipe from the inner pocket and impatiently extends his hand hurrying you with a quick beckoning gesture.

“Gimme your grinder.”

Rolling your eyes you haphazardly toss it over to him. However, unbeknownst to you, the top was loose and crumbles of kush spilled out of it and onto your bed when he failed to catch it.

“Nice looking out Cho, great catch.”

Even though the poor throw and loose top had been your fault, the fact he apparently couldn’t wait to fucking leave along with you still pissed with how he flirted with Brianna makes you lash out. 

“You fucking serious right now? I’m always lookin’ out for your ungrateful ass.”

Obnoxiously you huff, crossing your arms and turning your head away from him.

Ungrateful? For what!? 

He hadn’t been ‘looking out’ for the last month, he’d been completely ignoring you! 

“Heh, like I didn't just stop you from turning that gouda chick into actual cheese from the way you went at her?”

You press your lips together firmly to keep from cracking a smile at his play on Brianna’s nickname. You’re honestly still salty he had even been around her at all getting so chummy. He’d always talked about how stupid your sorority sisters were, it didn’t make sense why he let her flirt with him like that.

You’re also mad he didn’t at least let you pop her one good time.

“The bitches name is Brie. You should know, you were ‘oh so concerned’ about saving her number and giving her a discount.”

Choso looks at you like you’re an idiot as he shakes his head. He stops packing the bowl to throw you his phone.

“Whose number?”

Frowning, you already know the passcode so you unlock it right away. 

Sure enough there was no Brie nor Brianna in his contact lists. Not even her number showed up when you searched his phone for it in case it was under a completely different alias. 

He’d never even saved it. 

The smug smirk on Choso’s face tells you he knew what she was doing all along and got you all riled up on purpose.

In fact, Choso had recognized Brianna’s ploy immediately. You had previously mentioned something about an annoying n’ bitchy rival. 

Besides, there was no other plausible reason for a dumb sorority bitch like her to be talking to him at all—much less throwing herself at him so aggressively.

“Doesn’t feel good now does it, Prez?”

Your face is on fire and you turn away from Choso totally humiliated. You had played right into his hands.

“Hmph! Don’t get cocky, I wanted a reason to beat her ass anyway.”

You puff your cheeks into a pout that Choso can’t help but to chuckle at, shaking his head at you again. 

You were a huge brat that's for damn sure.

“Well, it certainly looks like you found one.”

You’re quiet finally as you rake over his words in your mind. 

‘I’ve always been looking out for you.’

Not only did he not save Brianna’s number there’s a high probability he just kept you from being kicked out of the entire sorority and maybe school too. Fighting was a huge no-no and you could have gotten expelled. Apparently jealous with rage you were ready to risk it all at that moment without even thinking of the consequences. 

Fuck.

Choso had in fact still been looking out for you—even when you didn’t deserve it. 

Plug!Choso who accepts your silence is a sign of your defeat and after a few minutes you move from your desk to sit next to him on your bed as he finishes grinding and packing the bowl. 

“Brats get greens this time.”

I’m paying a premium for all this shit, I better get greens. 

But you hold in that thought, not wanting to give him any more lip in the moment as you’re the one left licking your wounds this time.

Like a gentleman Choso holds the bowl for you and lights it as you take a hit. He tries not to notice how well your glossed lips are wrapping around the phallic mouthpiece as searingly thick smoke flows into your lungs. 

Damn, this shit was dank as hell. 

You’re doing your best to hold it in but your lungs are burning as you watch Choso take a hit himself. Not being able to keep in your coughs for a second more you’re left signaling at Choso to ‘wait a sec’ when he holds the pipe out back to you.

Fuck, it was even stronger than what you remembered.

“See Prez? True pressure.”

You shrug at him trying to save face although your eyes are watering, already tinting a bright shade of red.

“Uhh duh, I always cough Choso. I’ll still need a few more hits to know for certain.”

Choso rolls his eyes.

You take another hit—a smaller one this time—before slowly falling back onto your bed.  

Your eyes close as your high settles in and you debate on what to say next without fucking things up even more with your slick ass mouth. 

However your concentration is diminishing quickly as your buzz makes your senses overly aware of Choso’s intense body heat radiating off him, your thighs practically touching. 

The weed swirling together with the alcohol in your system makes you all the more sensitive. Your mind floats away as your gaze is hyper focused on how the lean muscles of Choso’s toned back and broad shoulders ripple under the thin black tee he wears.

God, Choso is so sexy. 

Your legs squeeze together to calm the burning in your core just from the thought. You want nothing more than to drag him down to bed with you and melt into his embrace—but there's an invisible force field around him that you can’t reach. 

You’re almost certain he would recoil from you if you tried now. 

There’s a conversation you needed to have first but you didn’t know how to start it without fucking things up even more. 

The result is an awkward silence that uncomfortably settles in the room as Choso finishes the bowl off himself. 

Never one to smoke too much of his own product he’s only indulging now to temper his mood. 

Choso doesn’t know why he’s still here, all good sense in him telling him to take the money and get the hell out. Yet he knows he’s hoping for something–anything–to show him you’ve changed even though all signs so far tonight have been showing him you haven’t.

You’re still cowering away from any accountability and he is determined not to give you an easy out this time. 

And it’s for that exact reason Choso can’t look over at you right now.

Otherwise he’s sure to see your tiny pink top that had started to roll up exposing the glitter adorned skin of your underboob. Or how your slow exhales cause your soft stomach to dip temptingly showing off the pink crystal belly button ring he gave you. 

The sight of your fishnets brushing against one another out of the corner of his eye alone is enough to know he wouldn’t be able resist grasping onto your supple thighs. God how he would relish the way his fingers would indent into them. He wanted to rip those slutty fishnets right off of you so his head could push your skirt up even further on your hips while he drowned himself in your wet cunt—not even stopping when you would cry from overstimulation.

Plug!Choso, who is thankful his distraction at long last comes in the form of the faded gray blue fabric by your pillow. 

“Yo!..is that my shit?”

Eyes opening wide, you pale upon seeing Choso reach for the crumpled up shirt. Choso unravels the tee to confirm it is in fact his shirt—one of his favorite band tees at that. 

“Oh, is that yours?”

Choso deadpans.

“So you listen to RHCP now?”

“Maybe…” 

You grab it from him and toss it to the side less you break down and confess to him you had slept in it most nights. Not only have you slept in it but you do in fact listen to RHCP now, especially when you workout.

However with this Choso has hit his limit. 

To him you hadn’t changed. 

Could you not even own up to the tiniest of things?

He couldn’t let himself get sucked back into your toxic web, not anymore. The longer he stayed the more likely that was.

“S’all good, Prez. Keep it.”

Choso grabs his jacket.

“Listen, I gotta g–”

“—w-wait!” 

You grab the other end of his jacket. You still find it difficult to find the right words but you had to say something. 

It was now or never.

“W-Wait… ah, at least before you go…l-let me know how Yuji’s game went?”

You meekly ease into the question but see Choso go ridgid at the mention regardless. 

For now he relents and stays seated. Although a few minutes pass before he speaks.

“He won, of course. MVP of the season.”

You smile genuinely at that but Choso isn’t looking at you— too pained by the memories that began to bubble up again like bile in his throat.

“Awe, that's so great! I knew he would! I’m so happy for him.”

Choso grits his teeth as he turns back to you, his anger evident in his entire being as every muscle in him flexes.

“Are you? So that’s how you treat someone you’re happy for? Really?!”

He doesn’t give you the chance to respond.

“Yuji’s a strong kid— much stronger than me. Honestly, I didn’t even think he minded you weren’t there as he was all focus and excitement to play that day—”

You let out a quiet exhale in relief though any consolation you felt was instantly shattered as Choso continued. 

“But when I put him to bed that night. H-He..He’d asked why you weren’t there…He asked if you were gone now like our parents. Yuji wouldn’t believe you’d miss it otherwise.”

Choso struggles to say the last bit and maintain eye contact with you. 

Every moment you gaze into his eyes though was pure torture as you’re racked with even more guilt.

“Choso I–”

“I’m so fuckin’ tired of all your fuckin’ excuses!”

You’re silent. It’s so strange to see him this upset you don’t know what to say.

“I’d ask you if you’d even considered the abandonment issues that kid already carries but you don’t. You don’t fill that fuckin’ superficial lil’ head of yours with anything beyond yourself!”

Finishing what he had to say, Choso gathers up his jacket and backpack, stuffing it full with the stack of cash on the vanity—not even bothering to count it.

Momentarily dumbfounded, you're scrambling from the bed to block his path. 

“C-Come on, Choso! I didn’t want to abandon him or you! I tried to call you and I texted you so much these past few weeks to talk!”

Choso isn’t impressed.

“And not one text actually had the words ‘I’m sorry’ in it. Not that it would have cut it this time.”

You're reduced to silence for the umpteenth time tonight. 

You wreck your brain knowing most of your texts had been focused on baiting him to respond to you but fuck—did you really not even apologize? 

“But I am sorry!”

Choso’s gaze is cold and distant, so foreign in comparison to the warmth you’d taken for granted before.

“Whatever you say, Prez.”

There it is again. You’ve grown to resent the title, the job, everything about it.

“Just stop calling me that, okay?!”

You’re trying hard to fight back the tears that threateningly pool in the corners of your eyes.

“What...Prez? Why, it aint all that they cracked it up to be?”

“N-No… it’s n-not… I actually hate it and I hate being here.”

Your voice is hardly above a whisper as you direct your words towards the ground. You didn't want Choso to see your glassy eyes even if he’d noticed the cracks in your voice. 

Plug!Choso who regards you with skepticism but curiosity nonetheless. So at long last you decided to be honest with both him and yourself aloud for the first time.

But it didn’t mean shit if you wouldn’t do something about it.

“Then quit.”

Choso says to you like it’s the most obvious answer in the world as your head snaps up incredulously.

“H-huh? W-What?!”

“You heard me princess— quit.”

Could you really just quit? 

Truthfully, you had never considered it an option. The expectations put on you by your sorority sisters, your parents and the plans you had made for yourself had all led you to the commitments and responsibilities you had now. 

How could you just let them all down by walking away from it all?  

“Choso— I heard you..b-but I can’t, you don’t understand I–”

“—No, I understand better than you do, princess. You spent so much time with me and Yuji because you hate this sorority bullshit, you can’t stand any of these bitches and now you just agreed to be president of your own goddamn misery!”

Reading you for filth, Choso stares at you expectantly but you avoid his gaze.

Your nails suddenly becoming all the more interesting as you fumble with them.  

“–Ight then.”

Choso doesn’t want to argue with you any longer. 

You’re still full of excuses to his disappointment. If you wanted to be something you weren't that badly, then that was your own prerogative he decided as he brushed past you.

“N-No! P-Please, don’t leave Cho!”

There's clear desperation in your voice. You cling to him, burying your head into the middle of his back as your shaky hands weave their way around his midsection. 

Choso is mid-twist on the doorknob. 

He had all intentions of leaving if you still weren't being honest with yourself about things.

Still does. 

Yet his determination is wavering from your hot tears begin to seep through his shirt and trickle down his spine. The warmth of your body—now flattened against his—causes your pert nipples to poke into his back while your delicate fingers wretchedly grasp onto his taunt abs like a lifeline. 

Like you actually needed him in your life.

Fucking hell, you didn’t play fair at all.

But he couldn’t forgive you just to hurt him again and especially not Yuji.

“Let go.”

“No.”

“I said let go!”

“NO!”

Choso easily pries you off of him, spinning you around as your back slams against the door pinning you in place. His hands encircle your arms and extend out fully so he could put some distance between the two of you. 

He couldn’t think straight when you were all over him. 

Your world is a blur and in your crossfaded state you are left with vertigo at the sudden shift of positions. Both you and Choso are left panting at the intensity of it all.

“You don’t listen to anyone do you?! You just do whatever the fuck you want…”

Choso’s face is red with anger and your eyes—already reddened from your high—take on a deeper shade as you are now openly bawling in front of him.

“Tch, why are you the one crying? This is how you want things, right?!”

You shake your head, unable to communicate beyond your pitiful sobs. 

Choso grows more and more frustrated as the guilt he is feeling battles with his more rational mind prompting him to still be angry with you despite your tears. Back and forth his mind races until it all bubbles over and—

“—You don’t think I know I’m not good enough for you!?”

Your teary eyes widen at the sudden admission. 

Choso even startles himself with his own confession he’d been holding in all this time. 

“But not Yuji...He’s already so much better than me! He’s gonna actually be something one day. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Your lip quivers and your pleas are almost unintelligible.

“I-I know…m’s-sorry…m-m’so sorry C-Choso!”

Choso exhales deeply and shoulders slump forward as he releases you, running a hand over his face and back through his raven locks.

You couldn't read his expression but you didn't want him to attempt to leave you again as you close the gap between you, arms encircling him once more.

Choso doesn’t push you away, yet to his credit he doesn't return your embrace either as he’s still torn.

“I-I missed y-you so m-much.”

Cursing the hold you have over him Choso can’t deny he still wants to be with you—but you both were at an impasse.

Nothing good would come from repeating the same cycle again. 

There is no resolution if you still want to keep up a front. 

“P-Please forgive me Cho—I-I love you.”

The sweet proclamation is accentuated by your pillowy lips spreading kisses over his chest while the tips of your fingers slip up his shirt to place feather light scratches at the small of his back. 

Love, eh?

An unexpected revelation dawns on Choso and he is now resolved in what he has to do. 

“Yeah princess, you really love me?” 

Oblivious to the danger edging in his voice, you nod as you continue to coo affectionate words and affirmations into his chest. One of your legs hitches around his as you mold yourself deeper into him thinking he’d finally forgiven you. 

Had he forgiven you though? 

Well, not exactly. 

A devious smirk appears across Choso’s features.

Choso had come to the conclusion that at the end of the day you were simply a terrible people pleaser. 

Your stuck up bratty nature was merely a front of false confidence. 

You tried so hard to become whatever anyone else wanted you to be, you'd lie to yourself and become utterly miserable in your efforts to appease those around you. 

However, Choso knew the version of you he’d gotten when you’d been with him and Yuji had been the real you. 

And he actually did believe you loved him— even if you had just forced yourself to say it in the moment so you could manipulate him into staying.

Sympathetic to your pitiful nature, Choso wouldn’t just abandon you. 

But if you couldn’t do what was best for you, he would make sure you would himself.

PART 3

⋙ ©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

⋙ I'm about halfway through P3, its 5.5k already lol. stick with me though cause pt 3 is the nasty brat taming smut we all are waiting for! if i tagged you here i will tag you again for p3 but im still adding new people to tag list so lmk in comments or reblogs if you'd like to be added. trying to focus to finish this but my adhd might distract me into writing a quick gojo fic but if i do i will finish this right after!

⋙tags: (ps ty for all the sweet comments for those who joined my overall writing tag list yall legit had me in tears ilysm!) @nkogneatho @toji-girl-main @RoyaltyAndRoses @aydene @slowlyshycomputer @bontensbabygirl @yoonjinhusbands @anxious-chick @kashxyou @halosdiary @littlemochabunni @ryomens-vixen @buttercupblu @tonycries @lowkeyremi @strawberrygirl0 @crybaby-herbalist @rintcrous @bomboclakkk @anubisisthebomb @alwaysfreakingout @oeanonyme @chrys23 @spltbtch @uranometrias @officialsimpp @crispycatt @purple-obsidian my-jukebox @peachyharts111 @thedorklingqueen @sugurusprettygirl @scarasw1f3 @kgorethz @c1truswh4re @madaqueue

[evilgwrl]

soft pregnancy sex with Simon maybe 😋😋😋 (i love ur work sm, I followed recently and I’m devouring it)

The way this man would be the gentlest person alive while ur pregnant..

Simon had never envisioned his future beyond the field. After the death of his own family and the continuous torture from his Father, starting his own was never a playing card.

Especially not with someone like you.

You were this pure form of light, always happy and carrying around a gorgeous smile like it was second nature. You were every part of him he wished he could be, and maybe that’s why you both worked so well.

You were Simon’s blessing in disguise. The person who taught him that it was okay to be vulnerable and express innocence, that he didn’t need to keep his guard up. The Lieutenant’s love for you was evident through every slight movement, whether he was standing next to you in line, towering over anyone who dared to glance at you too long, whether it was him carrying every single grocery bag, or whether it was him writing you sloppy love letters before he went away.

Simon also showed his love for you through touch, a gentle caress of your thigh turning into his tongue, lapping at your nectar before he was splitting you open, pussy clenching around his staggering size as your breath choked between your airways (that was the night you got pregnant).

Now you were 5 months, your belly plush and swell, breasts tender and heavy as your lower back ached with a dull ring. It was impossible for Simon to leave you alone, his hands always on you, rubbing, touching, groping. How could he not? You were so full and round with his child.

You were always so compliant, so gentle with the way you spoke as your thighs wrapped around his head needily, clit throbbing with anticipation as you gagged on the pure lust that leaked from your pores.

“Si –“ you would squeak out, gushing endlessly as he toyed with your eager cunt, pussy drooling at every subtle lick he gave it.

The man was breathless, growling into you with fervour as he slurped, grinding his wet muscles into your folds. He was a starved man, always in want of you. Simon pulled away, taking in the flushed sight of you, your belly nice and round, your tits achy with every movement, nipples perkier under the temperature as he groaned, your face glazed with the dewy complexion of beauty.

His hands were by your head, soft kisses delicately trailing across your face as you giggled, leaky tip lined up at your weeping entrance before he nestled into your walls, instantly hissing at your tightness.

“Pussy’s so tight for me, m’ perfect girl, so f’cking gorgeous.”

He was so slow, trailing his cock through every crevice inside you, feeling every ridge and texture that greeted him before he nudged against your sweet spot, your eyes wide with pleasure, and your lips coiled into a tight ‘o’. His thrusts were gentle, allowing you to milk his cock with every push and pull as you whined into the still of the night, the subtle paint of moonlight reflecting onto you both.

He was careful, groping your tits as he rolled your buds between calloused fingers, enjoying the way you cooed at him before he would lean down, biting at the lobe of your ear as he rocked his hips into you.

It was perfect like this. You were perfect.

Simon enjoyed taking his time, letting your pussy cry around him as a hand lazily rubbed at your delicate nub, pushing against it with slight pressure as full balls grazed the fat of your ass. It was his favourite sight as he watched you come undone, thighs locking up before release before your head was thrown back, eyes flushed with ivory as you gripped onto him, his cock pressed against your cervix before his own release followed, his cum littering your walls as you sighed, pulling him in for a kiss.

[magpiepills]

Plow

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Joel Miller x f reader

Word count: 900ish

Summary: Joel’s neighbor does yoga and he has a new appreciation of the practice.

Warnings: SMUT, voyeurism, pervert Joel, creep Joel, male masturbation, PIV, fingering, spit as lube, reader is able to do yoga and wears activity appropriate clothing.

A word from the author: come get your creepy Joel jerk off fic!

Read Part 2 Here

Read Part 3 Here

He stopped in his tracks the first time he noticed that the little window at the landing on his staircase looked right over your privacy fence and into your backyard. He might or have noticed at all if you hadn’t been outside, splayed over your purple yoga mat, twisted into a pretzel with your legs wide open and your tits threatening to spill out of that little stretchy top you wore.

He looked around, sure that someone saw him, knew what he was seeing, heard his brain telling him to look away and saw him watching anyway.

Joel was a practical man. He was honest and good and upright. He took pride in it.

That didn’t stop his hand from sliding over his jeans to palm his rapidly hardening cock. Didn’t stop him from zeroing in on the way the snug fabric highlighted the point of your nipples, or oh god how it molded to the cleft of your cunt.

He tore his hungry gaze away long enough to flick off the lights, hoping to watch just a little more in secret before he swore to himself that he would do the right thing and go downstairs and put you out of his mind.

It was only seconds before he was back in place at the window, ducking to the side to stay out of sight should you look up. In that time you’d switched positions. He watched as you slowly stretched your legs and spine, lifting your pert ass into the air.

Joel’s heart raced. He let himself believe that you were offering yourself to him. He imagined tearing open the fabric of those fucking pants and finding your bare pussy underneath, he let his mind paint a picture of your slick and swollen lips, your tight little asshole, all on display just for him, ready for him to devour or destroy.

He unbuttoned his jeans, belt buckle clacking against the floor as they fell around his ankles. He left his boxers on and told himself it was ok, that looking was free, that he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

He was hard as a rock.

He watched as you moved through your poses, breath hitched as he daydreamed of fucking you in each one.

You were so limber, bending like a willow switch, your movements so smooth and deliberate. He was transfixed by the graceful motion of your body and soon his boxers joined his jeans on the floor. His hand moved slowly against his length. His palm contoured to the underside of his cock and slid down to cup his balls before going back up to roll over the thick, weeping head.

Joel wondered how else you might stretch.

Did you ever touch yourself? Did you slip your fingers inside? How many? How many of his could you take in that little hole? Would you be loud? Scream his name? He would start with one, if he ever got the chance. He would feel how wet you got and he would spread your wetness over your clit again and again, dipping back for more of your dripping arousal, getting you close to coming then adding a second to make you moan and clench.

His fist moved faster around his cock, he spat into his hand to aid the glide, but he didn’t dare look down to watch, didn’t risk missing a moment of you. You were a goddamn minx.

He would add a third finger, he decided. He would wait until your first orgasm washed away, leaving you limp and pliant on your little mat. You’d think he was finished with you, but he would just dive back in, licking and sucking at your pussy, mixing his saliva with your wet release, and sucking your clit between his lips, feeling it throb as he tongued it, making your back arch off the mat when he split you with three thick, rough fingers.

Joel was close. Too close. He didn’t want to come yet.

He squeezed the base of his cock and took a few deep breaths. He looked at your pretty face, you looked dewy and serene, practically glowing. He imagined your pretty face covered in his cum.

You seemed to be winding down, stretching your body out, arms over your head, tits lifted and begging for his hands and his mouth.

Joel pumped his turgid member, closing in on his orgasm as you laid on your back, arms over your head, legs spread wide and bent at the knee, opening up your hips just for him, he was sure. Every deep breath you took lifted your chest and dropped your knees a little further.

How easy it would be to fold you in half and fill you up with his aching cock. He could pull that little top down, lick those little nipples you were hiding, use your top as a handle to fuck you hard and deep, hammering into you.

Joel’s vision tunneled, the house, the fence, the grass and sky all fell away until it was just you, mere yards away, practicing your yoga in the privacy and seclusion of your yard, while Joel splattered his tshirt and spilled cum down his thick knuckles to the image of you in his mind, stuffed full of cock, rubbing your little clit furiously with your manicured fingers, wedding ring shining in the sunlight as he squeezed your tits and filled you to the brim.

None the wiser to what had just transpired on the other side of the fence, you checked your watch, sipped from your water bottle, rolled up your mat and went back inside. Joel was left alone with his stains and his shame and checked his own watch, making a

Mental note so he could be waiting at the same time tomorrow, tissues and lotion handy.

[anantaru]

cw. fem! reader, virgin neuvillette & touch starved neuvillette

neuvillette whines when his body uncontrollably surges forward into your searing cunt, and as you grind your warmth on top of him once more, he nears the end of the tight rope amplifying his massive pleasure— shiny beads of sweat battered above his brow bone as you ride him with fluid motions as to not overwhelm the handsome man, his face shining in rose-light, and every desperate wince and utter he displayed revealing his irresistible divinity.

the immortal fragrance of his ambrosial trace perfumes the air as his body began to smell just like you, in fact, your scent was the only one to ever invade his own and it's absolutely intoxicating, especially because neuvillette doesn't even realize just how big he was and how difficult it can be to keep yourself calm while having your guts full of his fat cock— and not to forget, it's his inexperience that made you wince and aroused when being split in two, eagerly lapping up the crystalline tears on his warm cheeks when he groans out from overstimulation, your warm pussy dragging his painfully hard erection in and out when he roughly grabs at your hips, in fact, gripping so damn tight that you were flinching from the mild pain.

but it's a nice feeling, enough that it caused you to moan his name and rock your hips harder, it's blistering, nowhere near done when he suddenly bucks his hips up, faster, although whining out when your walls clamp around him at once, manifesting an ache to soothe the knot of discomfort in his stomach, or his twitching erection that made him drool from each side of his mouth due to this newfound pleasure that he experienced for the first time in his long life.

grunting from the sheer force of your thrusts, neuvillette strengthens the hold on your hips to fuck up into you the exact same time you did the same, shooting down a cold spark on each crevice of your spine as he cherishes the embrace of your warm walls and that you were so willing to grace him with your presence— graciously painting him with your slick arousal all the way to his shaft that oozed out from your hole when you fucked him raw, wanting him to memorize just how good it felt to be milked by a warm, wet cunt.

neuvillette was too far gone, you can clearly see and feel it, he was drowning within the bounds of his own dirty moans and the lewd squelches of your pussy imprinting your arousal all over his shaft, your bodies against each other blemished by the act of sex that you're forcing your tongue into his mouth to calm him down, at least somehow, remorselessly picking up the pace and crashing down again, up and down up and down, his heated noises all silenced by your greedy tongue lapping against his wet muscle— neuvillette's brain dissolving when your walls repeatedly twitch and try to swallow all of him, twist and milk him tight with your soft pussy felling like a riding compression, all the more sweetening the moment the more you speed up.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[peeweekey]

super graphic ultra-modern girl like me!

pairing: haley x reader

wc: 2k

tags: mature (NOT explicit) , closeted lesbian haley , both of you are drunk , making out

synopsis: where sharing lipstick with your best friend haley makes you feel… things.

a/n: reader: oh ho ho, i sure hope kissing my bff doesnt awaken anything in me! (it did)

i wrote this listening to super graphic ultra modern girl by chappel roan! haley fits so many of her songs its insane

your head is aching, spinning like you were sent to another dimension that consists of disco flashing lights and the nauseating smell of spilt vodka—all thanks to the sheer amount of alcohol you consumed in the past 5 hours. it’s pushing 3 AM—the strappy 4 inch heels are chafing your feet, the skimpy skirt clinging to your hips ride up in a way that would scandalize the small village mothers, and body glitter covering every inch of your skin. 

you feel light, weightless as you flutter and float through the rhythmic bass engulfing the club. you nod your head to the beat of the music, swaying your hips that loosen with every sip of the sweet alcoholic drink in your hand. 

you’re bouncing up and down to party rock anthem when your phone buzzes. fishing it out of your pocket, you squint your eyes to make out the notification. you bow your head, trying to make out the message over the flashing lights.

an amused laugh bubbles out of you. haley.

—> go 2 thr bathroon rn

—> hurry or else

you turn and wobble out of the middle of the dance floor, swaying to the beat while maneuvering the sea of sweaty bodies. the bathroom is in an isolated corner by the entrance of the club. you push the door open, stumbling slightly when it takes a little less effort than you expect.

you enter the club bathroom, shutting the ornate door behind you. it slams with a resounding slam, dampening the loud candy pop songs blaring through the party outside. 

your heels click against cool marble as you saunter to the long, seemingly endless, stretch of mirrors and faucets. twisting the knob, a rush of tap water flows freely; it contrasts satisfyingly with the heated skin of your hands. you wet your fingers, dabbing your cheeks and neck with cool water. you sigh, shivering with the instant relief it brings.

as you cool yourself off, you think—you do wonder what haley’s predicament is, she texted you with much urgency. 

perhaps she fell into the toilet—or maybe she’s drunk herself to the point of spewing her guts out in one of these very cubicles. the latter though makes you giggle. a notification buzzes from your phone, as if the sound of your laughter summoned it.

—> idiot

—> i can hear u laughing from here

you snort.

suddenly, without warning, you feel a warm hand pull you into a stall. it’s a sudden jerking motion, and you almost lose your balance to fall flat on your face. a gasp rips out of you as you clutch on to the very warm, very soft thing that keeps you from falling and twisting your ankle. before you even register the situation, you’re being dragged in to sit on the closed lid of the toilet. 

you’re frazzled, knocked off balance by a rude and very disrespectful stranger who obviously has no morals. you feel your blood boil, ruthless insults ready at the tip of your tongue—

—then you look up, and that feeling dissipates. instead, a cheshire grin splits your face, “haley.”

she’s the living breathing stereotype of a wild party girl like this; blonde hair in waves down her back that smells sweetly of strawberries, nails buffed and painted a pretty baby blue, and make-up done up to the absolute nines. her sequin skirt sparkles and winks as she shifts. pretty, you’ll ask if you could borrow it next time—

manicured fingers snap and you’re pushed out of your own thoughts. haley crosses her arms, standing in between your thighs, looking down at you with a displeased expression. “took you long enough.”

you offer a sheepish smile. “i was busy.”

“yeah,” she sneers, locking the stall door behind her. “busy shaking your ass to trashy zuzu club songs.” 

you ignore the sharp jab with a roll of your eyes. “what’s up?” you ask, your words slur slightly, almost tapering off into incomprehensible gibberish. “didya you puke or something?”

“ew. no,”the loud is just making my head hurt,” she replies, massaging her temples. “stick your legs together, i’m gonna sit on your lap.”

she knocks your thighs together with her knee. haley maneuvers you to her liking, your bare thighs pressing together when she spins and sits perpendicular to your lap.

“hm.” you feel the weight of her settle on top of your thighs. the warmth of her skin meeting yours under the cut of her skirt. you barely repress a shiver at the heat radiating off her skin. “woah! okay now you really have to tell me what’s going on.”

you're met with a faceful of strawberry-scented blonde hair when she shifts away—ignoring you. good news for her, your drink-addled brain doesn’t seem to care. in fact, your drunk brain figures it is a perfect time to shamelessly flirt. your tongue is loose enough, and your brain has completely thrown away its filter. as friends, of course; building camaraderie as people say.

“you smell nice, did you use that strawberry shampoo i gave?” you murmur, brushing the locks away from your face. you feel haley squirm in your lap. you know she used it, the pride bubbles up in you at the thought. 

it’s overly warm, that plus the buttloads of alcohol brewing in your gut makes your skin feel on fire. 

haley growls. “stop talking, dumbass.”

you roll your eyes, pinching her thigh. she yelps, high and breathy, swatting your hand away. she meets your eyes, her blonde brows furrowed.

“geez…” a lazy smile playing on your lips. “just take the compliment, hales.”

a ghost of a smirk appears on her cherry colored lips. glossy and pink. you wonder if they taste as sweet and tart as real cherries do—

you wince internally. thinking like that is not a good idea. damn your alcohol foggy brain, making you think of the inane idea of lusting after your best friend. 

you knock your forehead into her shoulder. “so are we just going to sit here all day?”

“i just need to touch up my lipstick,” she says. facing you with an expectant look. “then we can go back.”

“and that’s why you called me,” you raise a brow. your gaze trails to the cherry coat on her lips—it looks perfectly fine to you. in fact, she looks absolutely darling like this. 

“you need some?”

“…are you offering?”

“why not? we share all my shit anyway,” you shrug. “i think it’s somewhere in my purse—”

“where’s your purse?”

“i left it with the others, i think it’s with abby, i'll text her.” you say. fumbling for your phone, you reach in the hidden pocket of your skirt. the walls enclosing the cubicle restrict your movements; you bump your elbow against the flimsy wood as you dig deeper into the flimsy pocket. your skirt is skin-tight against your hips, you feel the woman above becoming increasingly agitated as your attempts to fish out your phone come out fruitless.

haley huffs above you, shifting; making your wary gaze snap back to her. she looks down at you with a pout—you’re damn sure she’s just as hammered as you.

“too far,” she whines, taking a firm grip of your jaw. your cheeks puff with the force of her squishing them, you feel the pointed tips of her nails digging into the fat there. she swings a leg over you, her hips bracketing your waist as she sits atop you. 

this position feels strangely intimate; like all your senses are overwhelmed with only haley. the heady scent of her skin, the short sounds of her breathing in your ears, the burning feeling wherever she touches—it’s all her, her, her.

which shouldn’t make you feel the way it’s making you feel; like you're buzzing with adrenaline. you feel the blood coursing through your veins at race car speeds—spreading all throughout your body. your cheeks feel hot, you feel dizzy with all your senses stimulated by your best friend.

the reverberating bass from the music outside shakes the walls; like some sort of finality as it thumps, thumps, thumps.

“hales,” you start, your mouth dry. “what—”

she stares at you, her crystalline eyes shining in the dim light of the bathroom. a pretty pink flush paints her cheeks til the tips of her pearl-adorned ears. you feel her breaths against your cheek—short and warm. “stay still, the gloss you have on your lips will do.”

your ears have to be fucking with you… your eyes widen and you swear you feel your heart jump up into your throat. “huh—”

“what?” she says in response to your wide-eyed expression. her tone drops to something akin to a purr. “your lipstick is such a pretty shade.”

helping is what friends are for, right? maybe this is merely the alcohol talking; because she doesn’t like you like that, totally—and the disappointment you feel is not because of that either. 

you swallow the heavy lump in your throat; your voice is strangled and stuttery when you speak. “f—fine.”

“perfect,” she grins. “hold still.”

this is the least you were expecting when you walked into the club bathroom; who knew you’d end up with haley in your lap and hovering over for what is technically a kiss. you will your eyes not to close, burning the view of her leaning over you into your brain. you shudder; this is not a sight that will leave you for months to come.

you squeeze her hip as her face hovers closer, palm lingering at her scratchy sequin miniskirt. you crane your neck, anticipating the brush of her lips against yours. your other hand travels to her upper back, stroking her locks of golden hair; under your ministrations, you feel her tremor slightly.

it feels like eternity when you finally connect. 

sparks fly the moment you feel the plush softness of her mouth against yours, moving in a salacious rhythm that you doubt is for only sharing lipstick. 

her lips are sticky with what remains of that cherry lip gloss; it smears all over your own lips, spreading your deep red lipstick everywhere; at the corner of your lips, at your chin. your eyes flutter shut, a contented sigh escapes your mouth and haley uses that as an opportunity to deepen the kiss. she drags her hand up and up, curling her fingers into the base of your neck.

you jolt, the pleasure fogs your mind; your thoughts are muddy, the only coherent thing is of haley. 

your tongue swipes at her bottom lip, chasing the fruity flavor of cherry cola on her lips. it’s sweet, she’s sweet. you feel lightheaded with the overwhelming sensations of it. sure, you’ve kissed once or twice—but it never felt like this; soft and desperate and hot and tingly, affecting you all throughout your body. 

your breaths are labored when she pulls away and you feel it's too soon. a clicking wet sound when her mouth disconnects from yours that makes you shiver. you feel dizzy with warmth; heat is pooling low in your belly, a low buzzing sensation overwhelms everywhere haley touches. 

her lips as wine-red as yours. the same color lipstick smeared messily on her lips. haley wipes the corner of your cupid’s bow, where some of the color had smudged, her breathing heavy and pupils dilated as you stare. her hands feel delightfully warm and soft against your skin. golden strands of hair brush against your cheeks, making you squirm in your seat.

you can barely restrain your delighted giggle, in awe of the absurdity of the situation. haley laughs too, a light sound like a tinkling bell. you slump against the cold tile wall behind you, boneless and in disbelief— did you really just make out with your best friend? and at a grimy club bathroom no less.

time seems suspended here, cramped in a stall with only the sound of heavy breathing. there will be a lot more questions when you leave, lingering glances at your pleasure-pulled hair and smeared lipstick. 

this is what friends do, what you and haley do. your eyes track her every move, unabashedly staring as she readjusts her top. haley catches your eye, smiling like the cat that got all the cream. 

she cranes her face to your ear, whispering. “thanks for the touch up, babe.”

[tired-biscuit]

hi just thinking abt a uhhhhhhhhhh werewolf who's already filled u full but keeps rocking his knot inside u until it swells up all over again bc ur godly writing just ??? 🫣👉👈

imagine trying to push him off of you because you’re so overwhelmed.

one of your hands is on his jaw; fingertips accidentally bumping against drool-slicked canines, the other is on his chest, the hair there so coarse and thick, hiding a wild-beating heart.

your hips wiggle as you attempt to cause some distance between your body and his intimidatingly bigger one just so that you’d be able to gather your breath and a shred of your sanity at least, but you just can’t — no matter what.

he’s got you pinned underneath him, after all; pressing you so far into the mattress that the bed frame is protesting. the wood of the bed frame repeatedly snaps and cracks but he keeps on pushing, keeps on pushing inside you. to make matters even worse, his knot is swollen again and is snuggled tightly against that tender spot that makes you want to close your legs and weep.

but despite the fact that you can’t currently close your legs from the way he’s claimed his rightful place between them, you still cry out at the fullness; at the way his inhuman tongue laps at the single tear that slides from the corner of your eye, then; gliding right down the curve of your cheek. he catches it before it reaches the edge of your jaw. sniffs, warm puffs of air tickling your skin, to see if there are any more to follow before he settles on painting a single line of warm saliva up your neck, right across your pulse point and up the side of your face.

you twitch at the bestial portrayal of affection he gives you now, writhing atop the sweat-soaked bed sheet but stopping immediately when the flash of heat sears you at the place where you connect to him, or rather he to you.

he’s literally stuck inside you for a second time in a row, causing you to feel like your pussy is about to burst. a small hiss leaves your lips in response to the sensation, however you’re relieved to find out that it’s fast to mellow out when you don’t move around as much.

still, it shouldn’t even be there in the first place, now should it? he promised you that the entire thing wouldn’t take long…

and yet here you are.

“i can’t believe you,” you chide, chest heaving because of the anger that bubbles within. “we’re seriously doing this again?”

at your nagging, your werewolf boyfriend stares down at you with what you could best describe as an unimpressed look his eyes. the slits that have replaced his pupils dilate sideways, eating up most of the yellow iris before relenting and thinning back to their original size again.

“keep still and it’ll be okay,” he grumbles, agitation lacing his already gruff, animalistic voice, causing it to sound even more dangerous than it already does. he doesn’t want to come across as mean or inconsiderate, especially when you’re so vulnerable and split open for him like this, but he knows your constant squirming may cause pain for the both of you.

“you’re gonna kill me like this, you know,” you mumble, stubbornly turning your head to the side when he leans in to kiss you. “gonna lose your mate just because you’re one greedy motherf—f-fuck!”

he huffs a laugh that sounds like thunder at your stutter, at the way you pretend to refuse him even if he can feel your pussy clamping down on him tighter, tighter, tighter when the knot finally does its job and stuffs you full completely, locking itself inside you yet again.

your inner thighs are still tacky. his cum and your arousal that have dribbled out of you after the first time are still drying, and here he is: already planning on spilling another load inside you. already thinking about plugging you and keeping you submissive until the seed sticks, just like he did earlier.

it’s his favourite part, especially because the face you make whenever the warmth of his release pools inside your belly is absolutely priceless.

however, nothing, absolutely nothing beats the face you pull when he sneers, gets real close to your ear and whispers,

“the only thing i’m gonna do is make sure you’re pregnant with my pups, sweetheart.”

[chocosvt]

HER | part three (m).

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 24.8k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that! 

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

THE MIDWAY POINT 🎉 now i've just gotta prepare the last 3 parts! this is a chunkier chapter. it contains one of the longest scenes i've ever written (not even the full thing lol, it had to be split). but you'll see why, a lot had to "occur" :p

happy reading!! 💕

⇢ part one | part two | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

“Holy fuck—you really did lose your shoe.”

He hadn’t actually noticed until you were both inside his dim apartment, puddles of water now forming on the floorboards.

“I told you!”

Looking down, you had on just a black, sodden sock. With a suctioning and uncomfortably wet squelch, you managed to toe off your remaining sneaker, flinging it carefully onto the shoe mat.

Wonwoo did the same.

Thunder continued rumbling outside, with lightning hitting no more than a few seconds after. The strikes were like white knives in the sky, ripping and shearing apart the storm clouds of summer humidity.

“Jesus,” you huffed, hands moulding down your face to wipe away all the droplets, “I can’t believe you got me to run, first of all. Second of all, I can’t tell if I absolutely hated or thoroughly enjoyed that.”

“I liked it,” Wonwoo said.

“Of course you did.”

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel to begin cleaning off his glasses and phone, not caring about all the water he was dragging so liberally everywhere. Once Wonwoo fit the frames back to his face, he was able to clearly see you still standing by the door, and he appreciated that you didn’t want to make a mess of his living room even though it wouldn’t matter to him one teensy tiny bit.

Your fingers picked in a distracted manner at the clusters of your dripping hair, meanwhile soft, watery mascara dappled down your arched cheeks, framing you akin to a detailed and evocative painting. That hemmed, white t-shirt was clinging in soaked wrinkles to your heaving torso and chest, revealing subtle imprints of all the bare skin underneath. And Wonwoo found himself looking. Not in a lecherous, tainted way, but in the simple fact that you were…

He suddenly bit down on his inner cheek, curled his hand into a fist where he could easily dig at the scars on his thumb.

To Wonwoo, you were so indescribably beautiful, standing near his doorway, soaked to the bone in the rebirth of rainfall.

He had always thought you were pretty, but in that moment, he knew it was more than just that—it was a realization that stopped the breath in his lungs and the heavy beats his heart was just barely making. At least, that was how it felt. Wonwoo sensed his panic flare up for a split second, and then it simmered away into casual nervousness. Before his eyes could linger long enough to get caught, he remembered to take a deep inhale and reground his thoughts. You stopped fiddling with your hair and sniffled.

“Um, is it okay if I jump in your shower? I mean—well, it’s your place, so if you want to get yourself sorted first, that’s fine.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind at all.”

You smiled back at him, adjusting the small leather bag strewn over your shoulder. He hoped your journal wasn’t soaked.

“Are you sure?”

“Well—okay, let me just run into my room and grab some clothes. I’ll dry off real quick in the washroom and change. I promise it’ll take me less than like, five minutes.”

“That’s probably best. I’ll just keep standing here.”

Hopping his way across the apartment, Wonwoo made it into his bedroom where he began ripping open the dresser drawers, pulling out some basic clothes like sweatpants and a hoodie. Then, he slipped into the washroom, peeling all the sopping, disgustingly sticky articles from his body and throwing them into the sink. Once he rubbed off with a towel, Wonwoo quickly got dressed—probably the fastest he’d ever put on clothes in his entire life. You were still standing patiently by the door when Wonwoo returned to the living room, having dumped his wet outfit into the laundry hamper.

“I’m making a colossal sized puddle right now.” You laughed.

“Ha—that’s okay,” Wonwoo answered, handing you a clean towel he’d pulled from his toiletries closet. “I’ll take care of it.”

You started walking toward the corridor, and then stopped.

“Do you think you have any clothes that might fit me? It’s just—I obviously don’t want to wear this again," you said, gesturing to the t-shirt and long skirt damply flush to your figure.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll look through my dresser and closet and pick out some stuff—you can see which fits best. I’ll throw your clothes and mine into the laundry as well—get it all clean and warmed up.”

“I’d love that, thank you.”

While you started undressing in his washroom, Wonwoo began sorting through all the clothes he had, pulling out older t-shirts and even some shorts, though he knew they most likely wouldn’t fit you. He heard you turn on the shower and wait for it to start heating.

Once Wonwoo was satisfied with all the options he’d picked, he knocked a few times on the washroom door. It was pulled open rather quickly, and he saw you standing in the threshold of thickening, hot steam, holding the spare towel closed at your chest.

“For you. There’s a whole bunch of sizes.”

“Okay, thank you so much. Do you want my clothes?”

“Yeah—that’s all of it?”

“Mmhm.”

“Okay. Take your time. I’m gonna run to the basement and get these in the laundry. I’ll probably be back up in like, five minutes. If you need anything else, just shout. I’ll be able to hear it.”

Wonwoo wasn’t sure how long it took you to shower, mostly because he was too occupied with looking out the windowpanes from his seat at the couch, watching the downpour continue, the evening dimness that flooded the room, and the liquified twinkling of city lights flickering behind all the rain. However, once you emerged from his bedroom and padded into the living area, dressed in a dark blue, logoed shirt from the neatly folded pile he’d handed you, Wonwoo had snapped back to the present. You smiled at him, and he saw that your face was now cleaned of the runny mascara and makeup.

“Oh—uh, our clothes are still in the laundry.”

“That’s okay,” you answered while walking around the coffee table. “I knew they wouldn’t be done right away. I’m fine to wait.”

Wonwoo proceeded to sit up straighter against the couch, rather than his slouched, wide spread position that he’d unconsciously sunk into before when staring vacantly into the rain.

“And, uh—just so you know, I’m wearing an embarrassing lack of clothes right now,” you admitted through your teeth, taking a ginger seat beside him. “So, like, not that I’m saying you’re going to be weird about it ‘cause I know you won’t be, but, do you have a blanket or something that I can toss over my lap?”

Immediately, Wonwoo got up from the couch.

“Yeah, there’s one in my room. I’ll grab it.”

He saw that your bag was also left in his bedroom, so he took it out with him, a few remaining droplets still bulbed on the surface.

“It’s probably not as soft as the one at your place.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You flapped the blanket out and settled it primly over your legs. “And thanks for grabbing my bag, too.”

Wonwoo collapsed back onto the sofa.

“I hope your journal’s not ruined.”

After fishing around inside the pouch, you pulled out your phone, and then the leather notebook, which was completely dry.

“Oh, thank God. I’d actually be so pissed if it was wet, probably more so than my phone.” You flipped through the pages, feeling for any splotches or tears. “I prevail, after all.”

Wonwoo smiled, and fluffed a hand through his hair.

“If you decide to stay longer because the rain won’t let up, I can always try to make you supper, or something. I can’t promise that it will be the best meal of your life, but I’m not that incompetent.”

“Oh—but what if I want something extravagant?” You smirked while flitting through your text messages. “Like buttery lobster with garlic mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables?”

He scratched under the pad of his glasses.

“Is that what you usually eat?”

“No. Only when I’m feeling super fancy. I force Mingyu to cook it for me because he’s good at that stuff. Really, I shouldn’t have to ask him—” you glanced at Wonwoo, smiling, “—he should just do it.”

“Well, if you decide to stay, I can make the next best thing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Looking into his kitchen, Wonwoo laughed at himself.

“Ramen.”

“Oh! I actually love ramen,” you exclaimed, shuffling up your legs under the blanket. “And I would totally stay, but I promised Princess that I’d come to her new place at six o’clock-ish to help do some unpacking. Once my clothes are all done, I’ll probably get her to come pick me up. I don't know when the rain's gonna stop."

“That’s fine,” Wonwoo replied with an accepting, warm expression, even though on the inside, he was rotting in disappointment because he would have given anything for you to stay and eat supper, maybe watch a movie afterward, order ice cream.

He hated when you would leave. It left him to swim alone with his own thoughts—mostly consumed by you—and dreadfully wait until he could see or hear from you again. As Wonwoo stared off into space, he felt the phone in his pocket buzz.

It was a text from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 5:05 pm ]: hey sir-dork-a-lot

[ Vernon | 5:05 pm ]:  you asked her about the party yet?!

Fuck. The stupid party. The Solar Pop incident with Mingyu.

Wonwoo had completely forgot that was somehow supposed to wedge his way into receiving an invite, when he didn’t even want to go in the first place. Parties genuinely weren’t his scene.

Especially the kind that Mingyu and his friend, Seungcheol, would throw. But, at the same time, there was this very small seed of curiosity planted in his stomach—that, maybe, Wonwoo should just shoulder off his hatred of loud, cramped spaces and obnoxious university students chugging all their drinks straight from the bottle. If he just tried his best to stay calm, stay level-headed, breathe, then perhaps Wonwoo could survive a night partying with Vernon, as fucking ridiculous and deluded as it sounded.

He glanced over at you, who was texting someone.

God. Did he really want to ruin this calm, comfortable moment right now to ask about your boyfriend’s big slosh-fest?

“So, I noticed in your schedule, like, two weeks into June, you’re gonna be off the call for three days, I think.”

You scratched your cheek, continuing to text.

“Oh, yeah. I thought I already brought that up, but maybe I’m thinking of a conversation with someone else.” Shutting off your phone, you started sliding it around the blanket while talking. “It’s this big party that Mingyu’s helping to host with his friend from basketball, Seungcheol. I don't know if you're familiar with him. They do it every summer. It’s always so much fun, but I get so fucked up that I need at least two days recovery.”

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling how dry his throat was.

“Yeah. I know Mingyu’s trying to get coke from Vernon.”

You stopped playing with the phone, instead looking immediately to Wonwoo through the rays of gradual light that began easing past the gentler rain. He held his breath.

“Right, Vernon.” You almost shuddered.

“Yeah…”

“If he can get his hands on it, then, fuck, I’m fine with that. Whatever. Mingyu invited him, of course. As long as he doesn’t slink up to me and try to convince me the ten different ways he can give me the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I guess I shouldn’t whine.”

Wonwoo was embarrassed for his friend—it was a pretty rough situation, he would imagine. Not his most shining moment.

“I know he’s your bestie,” you said, stretching your legs out onto the coffee table, “and I’m not going to judge you to your face, but I will be judging you, silently, in the recesses of my own mind.”

Snickering, Wonwoo rubbed a hand down his neck.

“The transparency’s nice, I suppose. But, yeah. I understand why you’d have a gripe with him. To be fair, he’s not that bad. He’s a good guy that’s wrapped up in some shitty habits. I’m sure you taught him a lesson that night. It gave him a serious degree of humbling.”

“Pfft. Did it, now?”

Wonwoo opened his mouth, but he didn’t speak, and it was then you doubled over in laughter at him, patting a hand on his knee.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll just deal.”

“I know you will… and, like, be safe and stuff.”

You grinned, shaking your head.

“Oh, yeah. No need to worry. I know my limits… okay—well, actually, I shouldn’t say that—I have a vaguely good idea of where my limits are, and sometimes I happen to surpass them. Not by ignorance, though. My mind is just too mushy at that point to care.”

“How incredibly rambunctious,” Wonwoo replied. “You’re probably blacklisted everywhere; a walking threat, actually.

“Oh, shut up,” you chuckled, folding your arms. “If you were trying to wiggle your way into being invited, I’m revoking it now.”

“Well, that soils my next question.”

You raised your eyebrows, “… which is?”

For a moment, Wonwoo couldn’t process that he was about to ask such a pathetic question. He tried thinking about it more as an out-of-body experience, where it wasn’t really his true conscience taking the sails. You kept watching him, waiting for his response.

Thankfully, you didn’t grant him the breadth to speak, and he was certain a lively hue of colour had just flushed back to his face.

“Oh, you’re being serious. You want to go?”

“Not really,” Wonwoo admitted, pushing up his glasses. “But, uh, I don’t know. It helps that Vernon will be there. I’m sure you can tell, I’m not a party person—not at all. Just, it could be a good opportunity for… um… well, I really can’t explain why, actually.”

“Hm.” Your eyes narrowed. “I assume it’s Vernon pushing you into it for some stupid reason… I mean, I have no issues with you going, of course!” He watched you adjust your legs under the blanket, tucking them back beneath you. “But just so you know, these parties are kinda intense and can be a major sensory overload—even for me! And I know that you don’t like talking about it but I’m not sure how well it bodes to put you in a position where you might have… uh, never mind, actually. I shouldn’t speak on stuff that doesn’t concern me. I just care about your wellbeing.”

Wonwoo pushed his lips together. A slight rush of something warm and tingly flowered at his core and he couldn’t tell if he absolutely loved it or wanted the feeling to wither up and die. More light streamed through his windows as the rain weaned off and the sky morphed from grey back to a softer, evening powder blue.

“I appreciate your concern,” he answered after an almost questionable silence, “I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Oh, sorry—I just wanted to be sure.”

“It’s okay.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment. Wonwoo twiddled his thumbs while you stared down at the blanket, presumably thinking.

“I would love for you to come, then.”

He caught you smiling at him after extending the offer in a quiet voice. The outside light filled up your eyes like a glass of swirling gold and Wonwoo believed your earnesty. And while he knew Vernon would be elated that he was able to come, Wonwoo was fighting to understand if he felt more relieved or terrified.

—JUNE 15TH.

Coming home from his long shift at the pharmacy, it was some time past eleven at night. The day hadn’t been extremely busy, but Wonwoo found it always slowed down the most dramatically when he was absolutely itching to leave. He tried his best to get relaxed, jumping into a warm but short shower, making himself a cup of chamomile tea, looking back on some favourite excerpts from the journal he kept buried away in the first drawer on his nightstand.

Wonwoo willed himself not to look at any screens. And, yet, as he sat in his bed, drinking the last few sips of tea from his hot, porcelain cup, Wonwoo’s eyes flickered across the room to his desk where his laptop was placed, and he felt this ticking urge to write.

At first, he wasn’t sure what to do.

After all, he’d been putting in a significant effort to fix that godawful, nightmarish sleep schedule of his, and while his ventures weren’t always the most successful, Wonwoo was making notable strides. To throw that all away—just to pick open his laptop and most likely end up staring straight into a lurid, white screen, while nothing of actual substance came to his fingertips—it was fruitless, and perhaps a bit stupid. He knew he needed to let that story die.

The longer it sat, collecting pixelated dust on his desktop, the more it made sense to simply delete it. Move on. Acknowledge the fact that this relationship he once perceived as so perfect and glimmering had ended, and trying to find some wisps of closure in forcing himself to complete a fizzled romance was pointless. It made so much sense. Besides, Wonwoo was happier now than he had been back in March, April, May. And, he could attribute much of that to someone he once feared and poorly understood—you.

It was hard to describe, but you had been this flare—a comet more like—that kind of blazed with an uncontrolled fire into his very bleak life. And while he’d definitely felt your scorching, uncomfortable sting more than once, he was able to realize there was something so unique and enriching about you. Because you weren’t just an uncontrollable fire, you were a full body laugh that made it hard to breath, but in the best, most treasured way. You were the quiet stillness of a pond, deep in the woods, listening to all the sounds that thrived around you, even though it didn’t always seem like it.

And you were this very soft, caressing breeze that always found Wonwoo, even when he was at his lowest valleys, giving him that sensation of a shiver to let him know that he was still alive and breathing and not so horribly numb as he thought himself to be.

That was something he’d never experienced before.

It scared him somewhat, but there was comfort in the thought, nonetheless. True, warm, and pure comfort.

Wonwoo sighed, blinking away from his laptop.

He should probably just go to bed.

Once he washed his teacup out in the kitchen, Wonwoo started brushing his teeth. That big summer party he was supposed to attend with Vernon was tomorrow night, and to call him nervous was a complete understatement. Wonwoo wouldn’t be surprised if he threw up. He would probably have to smoke a bit before leaving, just to mellow out. Of course, Vernon was overflowing with excitation, and maybe that was a good thing—he could be Wonwoo’s buffer.

Since your day together at the museum, Wonwoo had revisited your apartment twice to help with further proofreading and editing. He would be downright lying if he claimed that having to read through a memoire of your fulgurant love for Mingyu wasn’t disheartening or turning him occasionally bitter. Wonwoo wanted to be happy that you were so devoted to him, you could write an entire book detailing all your sweetest moments and fondest memories and the overall history of your love. But he wasn’t happy in the slightest.

You made him happy—not you, plus Mingyu

Continuing to brush his teeth, Wonwoo heard his phone ding once, and then again from his bedroom. And while he hadn’t wanted to look at any screens tonight, he figured that responding to a couple texts wouldn’t thwart all his progress. With the toothbrush still hanging from the corner of his mouth, Wonwoo flopped backward onto the bed and yanked his phone off the charger. While he was expecting the messages to be from Vernon due to their late sending, he was quite surprised to see they were actually from you.

[ Her | 11:50 pm ]: IMG.2102

[ Her | 11:50 pm ]: do I look pretty?

Immediately, Wonwoo shuffled up onto his elbows, tapping at the picture you had sent him. When he nearly choked on the excess of minty foam stuck in his mouth, Wonwoo quickly ran into the washroom to spit it all out. He recognized the outfit you were wearing in the photo—it was that white two-piece from the boutique in the mall that you had tried on, with the high-waisted, short, tight skirt and the strapped top that wrapped around the back of your neck and criss-crossed over your chest. Coming back to his bed to sit down, Wonwoo leaned over with an elbow digging into his knee.

Did you mean to send that to him?

For a moment, his thumbs just hovered above the keyboard, attempting to concoct a coherent thought in his mind. He recognized the large, silver-bordered mirror from your bedroom. And while the phone was slightly covering your face, you had this leg crooked up in a sweet, almost delicate pose despite the open and revealing nature of the outfit. Wonwoo rubbed under his glasses, huffing out deeply.

[ Wonwoo | 11:55 pm ]: Did you mean to send this?

He prayed you didn’t take his text the wrong way.

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: um yes

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: ur wonwoo, aren’t u?

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: I just wanted to know what u thought of the outfit I’m gonna wear. I know u have already seen it. but just in case u forgot I wanted to send another pic lol

[ Her | 11:56 pm ]: u think it’s bad? :(

Sitting back against his pillows, Wonwoo completely forgot all about his ‘no screens’ rule, texting you as quickly as possible.

[ Wonwoo | 11:56 pm ]: No, it doesn’t look bad at all.

[ Wonwoo | 11:56 pm ]: You look gorgeous.

[ Her | 11:57 pm ]: and ur not just saying that?

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: No, of course not.

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: You’ll be the prettiest there.

[ Her | 11:57 pm ]: omgg thxx <3 okay I feel better now

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: Why? What happened?

At that moment, Wonwoo actually received a text from Seokmin, but he rapidly flicked it away. Another text followed, and Wonwoo swore he flicked it away even faster, as though Seokmin was actually talking into his ear despite the quietness of his bedroom.

[ Her | 11:59 pm ]: Mingyu told me he doesn’t really like it bc the skirt part is too short and he doesn’t like the top. he says it’s too revealing and that everyone will just be looking at my boobs lol. but I don’t want to change it :/ I like how it fits and it’s not like i’m going to be doing cartwheels or gymnastics

[ Her | 11:59 pm ]: idk he just made me feel bad about it

Wonwoo proceeded to rub a hand through his locks of clean, black hair, pulling them messily all over his head as he thought.

[ Wonwoo | 12:00 am ]: Hm. Well I do agree that it’s revealing and you probably will have people staring at you. I mean, if you’re not uncomfortable by that it’s fine. You’ll just have to be careful if you bend over or dance around, that’s all :) But I’m sure you already know that. You look beautiful. Don’t worry too much.

[ Her | 12:00 am ]: okayy thank you so much! :)

[ Wonwoo | 12:00 am ]: No problem.

[ Her | 12:01 am ]: I’m so glad that ur coming

[ Her | 12:01 am ]: it makes me feel better

[ Wonwoo | 12:01 am ]: Hopefully I can find you.

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: I’ll text you, no worries

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: mkay well I should go to bed now!

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: goodnight <3

[ Wonwoo | 12:02 am ]: Goodnight.

At last, Wonwoo clicked off the bright glare from his phone, setting it down against his chest. For at least five minutes, he did nothing but lay remarkably still in his bed and stare up at the ceiling, thinking—as he usually did—about why he was feeling that way.

That very certain, specific way that was so demanding in his heartbeat to be acknowledged, except for the fact Wonwoo wouldn’t acknowledge it because then he’d throw up and probably lose himself entirely as he panicked.

Eventually, his thoughts were becoming too loud for his liking, and Wonwoo promptly tossed his phone aside and crawled underneath the covers before turning off the bedside lamp.

Even then, Wonwoo was restless. When he tried rolling onto his side, the uncomfortable poking against his nose reminded him he hadn’t even removed his glasses. At first it was too hot, and Wonwoo pointed his leg out from beneath the blankets, pushing all the sheets down to rumple at his waist. But then it was notably cold after a few more minutes, and Wonwoo angrily stirred all his blankets back up to mask over his face. No matter what he did or how he positioned himself or what limb he decided to sacrifice to the hot-cold air, he wasn’t going to fall asleep. Wonwoo’s eyes popped open again.

Patting around the surface of the bed, his fingers eventually brushing the phone and glasses he’d discarded, Wonwoo decided he didn’t care about going to sleep anymore if that was how his body was going to so painfully treat him. He shuffled up more against the pillows splayed at his back and checked the messages sent by Seokmin about half an hour ago—the two boys hadn’t spoken in a while, almost since their exams ended in May, and while Wonwoo would have ideally liked to keep in touch with his friend, he was laughably horrible at it. At least Seokmin seemed chipper.

[ Seokmin | 11:57 pm ]: Hey Wonwoo!

[ Seokmin | 11:57 pm ]: I heard you were going to Mingyu and Seungcheol’s party! I didn’t think that would be something you’re into but I’ll also be there, probably for a couple hours

Wonwoo swiped out from the texts, not really feeling anything or thinking much about their content, and opened some messages from Vernon that he’d received at work but forgot to read.

[ Vernon |  9:55 pm ]: need a drive 4 the party?

[ Vernon | 9:55 pm ]: let me know beautiful xo

He couldn’t help but muster a chuckle at the teasing nature of his friend’s texts, though Wonwoo didn’t respond, making a mental note to answer the next day, instead. For another moment or two, he continued sitting in the dark shadows of his room, staring down at the only light which caught the reflection in his glasses. Wonwoo’s thumb at first hesitated, but then he was reopening his earlier conversation with you, and with a few upward flicks, he was back on that cute photo you’d sent him. It hadn’t left his mind at all.

This huge lump of guilt had come to sit in his gut like an anchor for a reason that Wonwoo didn’t begin recognizing, that is until he finally felt the pull from somewhere deep inside him—the thought had entered his mind and he knew if he just ignored it for even a second it would dissipate. But then, Wonwoo didn’t ignore it, because he didn’t truly want that. He was going to be selfish in that instance and sink into the pull, the heat—not dismissing the thought but the guilt he would later drown in—the shame of it all.

Wonwoo kicked off his mask of bedsheets, letting them settle in a slow puff around his ankles.

In the beginning, all of it felt so bizarre. The hand that twisted underneath his sweatpants, and then his boxers, coming to softly graze fingertips along his hardening shaft—he hadn’t done this in weeks. Wonwoo rarely experienced sexual frustration. It just wasn’t something that bothered him. But the absent tendency would always build up and inevitably break at some point and he hated that you were the cool, breathtaking breeze to push him over that cliff.

With the edges of his fingers, Wonwoo continued to stroke along himself, up and down, just barely touching. It would make his knee jolt or his thigh twitch, but the longer he teased, the more each touch transformed. The pleasure was soaking through and leading him in deeper until Wonwoo tilted up his hips in order to shove down the elastic waist of his sweatpants and underwear. The air was so cold but dually welcomed against his erection that he began pumping to full length in his hand, feeling it throb and grow and stiffen.

Wonwoo let his eyes flutter toward the phone he was holding at his stomach, examining your figure from head to toe. It was wrong and he fucking knew it, but as he rubbed a palm at his most sensitive head and felt the cum start to leak down his cock, Wonwoo couldn’t bring himself to scale the acceptableness of his actions.

In that moment, Wonwoo looked at you in all the ways he shouldn’t. He pressed his head back into the pillow, eyes falling shut while he lubricated himself in squeezing, slow strokes with his own arousal. His fingers gripped the phone tighter, refusing to drop it.

You were bright and flashing in his mind and Wonwoo wanted to know all of it—he wanted to know the feeling of your silk, swollen lips leaving warm kisses up his shaft. He wanted to know the sensation of your tongue laving messy circles around his tip, teasing him, purring at him, staring up at him with those intimidating, sharp eyes that had always seemed beyond frightening. He wanted to know the sounds you would make if you ever so kindly allowed him to settle between your thighs. He knew how fucking beautiful your cunt would be and he could only imagine your taste would utterly melt him.

His fist wrapped tighter, pumped faster, and despite his usual quiet temperament in bed, a throaty, deep whine caught in Wonwoo’s throat. He took another look at your picture, and somewhere amongst the smog of pleasure that thickly hazed his logic, Wonwoo felt this transient, selfish anger, because in that moment, he wanted you. He needed you. He would do fucking anything you asked him and more because there was so much weight you held in his life. Wonwoo just wanted to make you happy and he couldn’t help but burn with the desperation to treat you better than anyone else ever had.

Knowing he was going to shatter soon, Wonwoo braced himself through the torture that was removing his hand and letting the intense, throbbing accumulation of pleasure ebb from his cock.

He gritted his teeth at the frustrating feeling.

But there was a reason for his decision. Looking back to the phone still aglow, Wonwoo swiped out from your picture and began scrolling higher up in the conversation, seeking out something particular that had jumped into his memory. And once he found it, there was an even denser feeling of guilt he had to ignore.

Last week, you ended up sending him a voice note because you were too exhausted to even bother typing. It wasn’t that the audio contained anything even relatively lascivious, since you were mostly just rambling about your day and never quite finishing a thought.

However, Wonwoo loved your voice. He loved hearing it in person and through his phone’s crappy speakers, especially when you sounded so sleepy, and your tone would soften, the occasional sigh or gentle breath hitting his ear just perfectly. Placing his hand back around his erection, Wonwoo hit play on your voice note and laid the phone beside his head on the pillow. He managed to smile through the pleasure that was rebuilding inside him as he intently listened.

“Um, hi, so—ah! Sorry, my phone just fucking slid under the covers, oh my God. But, yeah, I’m sending a voice note ‘cause I’m drop dead exhausted from today. It was the worst. My legs hurt so bad that I could hardly carry myself to bed. Ugh. Anyway… okay, sorry, I forgot what I was gonna say… oh yeah! So—”

It all felt too euphoric—too warm and overwhelming and the more Wonwoo listened to your sweet voice the more he felt himself pulsate with how badly he needed you. He planted one foot to his mattress, using it for stability and leverage as his hips thrust upward and he began unbridled fucking into his own hand. More than anything in the universe he wanted it to be your cunt—your pretty, wet, soft cunt cushioning him in and gushing all over him. He was going to drive himself fucking crazy at the thought, so much that Wonwoo began begging for you in his husky, deep, quivering voice.

Most was complete incoherency, dipping into confusing, jumbled whimpers of his English and native Korean tongue. Your voice was right there by his ear, though he was hardly processing a word. His orgasm was going to collapse over him like a tidal wave and all Wonwoo could do was succumb as he continued pumping his strained cock. His breathing was laboured, heavy. He kept stuttering and pleading for you into the sheer darkness of his bedroom.

Lots of “pl-please” and “f-ffuck, fuck, fuck!” and “m’gonna cc-cum for you, I want t’cum for you, I need it all inside of you, put it all so deep in your p-perfect cunt”—and plenty more tainted things he would take to his grave before he would ever confess to uttering.

As the voice note came to its end, Wonwoo had slammed his fist down for the last time. He immediately turned his cheek to the pillow, ignoring how the rounded glasses dug into his face, simply because his moan was too broken and shamefully loud. His cock started throbbing with the most intense pleasure he’d ever felt against his palm. The cum dribbled down his ghost-white knuckles. Wonwoo refused to even glance at the mess he was making. With a few more shaky pumps of his fist, he’d milked out all he possibly could, some spurts landing on his rumpled t-shirt. At last, he could exhale.

Lifting himself up with his clean hand, Wonwoo took a few moments to simply breathe. His entire body was still racing with adrenaline and hormones and the pure rush of his self-orchestrated ecstasy. But, pushing between all the energy was his guilt—the fact of what he’d just done and how he’d so blatantly used you to make himself feel good. Wonwoo glanced back at his phone and the voice note in the conversation. Immediately, he clicked the device off, and there was strictly still, shapeless blackness that surrounded him.

What the fuck had he just done?

How was he supposed to text you, look at you, talk to you, knowing he’d officially jerked off to your picture and your voice. Even worse—it was probably the best his masturbation had ever felt. It was all so fucking heavenly in the moment that he thought he might die.

Wonwoo had no idea what to make of his actions.

His feelings for you.

But he thought he should at least tidy himself up.

—JUNE 16TH

Before Vernon had come by in his car, Wonwoo was caught in an exhausting and sickening guessing game of whether or not he needed to throw up. His lower stomach was in complete knots, prompting him to pace back and forth outside the washroom door, because sitting down was going to make him ruminate even more over how terribly nervous he was. Thankfully, however, Wonwoo never threw up, and he was able to calm himself a bit by rolling a blunt, sparking it while sat at the open windowsill in his bedroom.

There was also help from the nighttime breeze that touched against his warm face, a sensation he had always found so soothing.

Just before ten at night, Wonwoo received the critical text from Vernon—he was parked outside on the street. He’d fully smoked his blunt at the time of the message, and he pathetically prayed to himself that his nerves wouldn’t sizzle back up at the worst possible time as he locked his apartment door. Once Wonwoo had stepped outside, he spotted Vernon’s old vanilla Camry stalled beside the postal box across the street. He was kind enough to reach over and push the door open for Wonwoo, who quickly shuffled into his seat.

Immediately, Wonwoo received his usual greeting.

“Hey, Glasses.”

He gave a nod back in response, buckling on the seatbelt.

“So, you smell like confusin’ mix of straight cannabis and a fuckin’ breezy Caribbean Ocean tide. How the fuck does that work?”

“Uh, I put on cologne. And then I smoked?”

“You nervous, then?” Vernon asked through his trademark conniving smirk, meanwhile he began steering out onto the street.

“Of course I’m fucking nervous,” Wonwoo almost laughed back at the obvious nature of the question and habitually checked his friend’s blind spot. “I don’t even go to like, dinner parties.”

“Pfft, I’m sure you’ll be fine. The good thing about parties like these—everyone gets so fucked it’s unlikely they’ll remember some nervous dweeb like yourself. Amongst all that chaos, you’ll blend straight in. There’s nothin’ to be shaked up about. I promise ‘ya.”

Wonwoo merely huffed in response, opting to let Vernon focus on driving and working the car’s outdated stereo while he checked his phone. Actually, Wonwoo had wanted to text you before he left the apartment, but he was still stomaching all the rigid guilt that came with jerking himself off to your pretty picture and voice note the night before. It was a stupid, stupid choice.

All those thoughts that had been stampeding through his head—wanting you and needing you and craving to belong with you in a way that could never reach true fruition—Wonwoo had to convince himself it was all meaningless. His mind had conjured those ridiculous sentiments when his logic was razor thin and overcome by the deception of his lust, and, therefore, he refused to accept those urges were even close to his actual feelings for you. He clicked his phone back off, not meaning to sigh aloud but doing so anyway.

Vernon then shot him a speculative glance through the rear-view mirror, though Wonwoo barely caught it. He looked out the window instead, at all the passing lights and people who were eager to spend their Friday night doing something stimulating.

“So, I know you’re probably just thinkin’ to yourself over there, as you usually do,” his friend said, fiddling with the radio until the static noise died back into music, “but I think it’s all too funny.”

Wonwoo scrunched his nose, continuing to watch the nightlife slip by his tracing eyes outside the window.

“Hm? What’s funny?”

Vernon chuckled. “All that shit you said to me, like, over a month ago. We’re not friends. And now, you n’Her hang out all the time. I think she’s pumpin’ some actual life back into you. You’re not like you were before, y’know? Which is good to see. So, what I wanna know now is—would you say the same? Or is she your friend?”

Right, Wonwoo remembered the conversation Vernon was referring to—the night his friend drove him home after a tiresome shift at the pharmacy. With his entire chest, Wonwoo had claimed you two weren’t friends. There had been a lot of truth to it, at least from his perspective. Or, maybe, he’d crushed down the prospect of it so vehemently because Wonwoo had just assumed someone like you would have no interest in honestly befriending him.

He could offer you something, and that was it.

But, now…

“You’d have to ask her,” Wonwoo answered, shrugging.

Instantly, Vernon groaned.

“God, that’s such a fuckin’ cop-out answer, Glasses.”

“Well, what the fuck should I say? Yes, we’re friends, but then you might go and ask her, and she’ll say otherwise.”

“So what?” Vernon engaged, raising his hand partially off the steering wheel in a half-gesture. “So fuckin’ what if she says that? If you think of her as a friend then commit to that. There’s nothin’ wrong with it.” His voice became firmer, more convictional.

Wonwoo tilted his head back against the seat. It’s not that he didn’t think you were friends—it was more so that he might to admit it, and then the relationship could all fall apart, crash like a burning, charred asteroid at his feet. And then Wonwoo would be back in the same self-inflicted crater he was before, thinking he had a genuine connection in his life only to have the rug pulled out from under him.

“… I don’t know.”

“No, you do know. But I see you wanna be all secretive about it and keep your cards close to the chest. So, whatever.”

Rubbing at the edge of his nose, Wonwoo took a quiet moment for himself to muse. He wanted another blunt.

“I don’t think she’ll be that excited to see me.” Vernon said.

Turning his head, Wonwoo looked to his friend and laughed.

“Yeah, can’t imagine why.”

“Think she’ll rip my head off?” Vernon joked with a big, gummy grin, relaxing back into his seat. “That might be kinda hot.”

“No—it would be traumatizing, actually.”

“She better not,” his friend answered, slapping his glove compartment and smirking pridefully. “I’ve got her goddamn coke.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ… I’ve never seen a street this packed…”

Vernon couldn’t help his awe from spilling out as he navigated at a snail’s pace down the road, each and every available spot that lined the curb being occupied by a vehicle. Wonwoo spotted a few groups making their way up the sidewalks, toward the colossal sized house to the distant right of the street. Seungcheol lived in Hill Crest, just like your parents, but he seemed poised at the neighbourhood’s opposite end—probably ideal for throwing an outrageous party that would otherwise magnetize the entire police task force to the door.

Wonwoo glanced down at his phone.

Seokmin had sent him a text a few minutes ago, inquiring if him and Vernon were close by or at the house. He sent a message back about the worrying lack of parking spaces, and then continued to help Vernon search through the overcrowd for a hopeful pocket.

“Fuck… this isn’t lookin’ good…” Vernon lamented.

“I doubt there will be anything close to the house,” Wonwoo sighed, folding his arms in doubt. “It could be best to make a turn or go around the block? We might just have to take a hike.”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe doesn’t take fuckin’ hikes,” his friend jabbed, antsy fingers sculpting into his bitten lip while the other hand catered to steering the wheel. “I have this dude’s blow. Doesn’t that earn me a VIP-guest-list-skip-the-line type plot?”

Wonwoo scoffed. “Should’ve sorted that out earlier, man.”

“Shut your dorky ass up. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

At that moment, the phone slid between his thighs vibrated with another text from Seokmin. His eyes widened at the invite.

[ Seokmin | 10:40 pm ]: Oh dw about street parking!

[ Seokmin | 10:40 pm ]: Use the gate at the house

“I think you’re right. I might have to turn,” Vernon announced in a defeated breath, brushing a hand through his dust black hair. “Get ready to see the best three-point turn that’s ever been turnt.”

“Just wait one minute,” Wonwoo then answered, leaning forward in his seat as he began to text Seokmin for more details.

[ Wonwoo | 10:41 pm ]: Gate?

[ Seokmin | 10:41 pm ]: Seungcheol’s got a gate that leads to this little underground parking thing. Some of his and Mingyu’s close friends are using it. Her’s friends, too

[ Wonwoo | 10:42 pm ]: Uh… I don’t know haha.

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: I asked Seungcheol, it’s fine!

[ Wonwoo | 10:42 pm ]: You sure?

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: Yup

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: Gate code is #1142!

“Don’t turn around, go up to the driveway and look for a gate,” Wonwoo instructed. “Apparently, this dude’s got an underground parking space. Seokmin gave me the code for it.”

“Jesus Christ,” disbelieving laughter swelled up from Vernon’s chest as he proceeded along the street. “This guy’s like, rich-rich. I wanna see all that fuckin’ cash up front. Bills in every colour.”

Wonwoo was just relieved that Seokmin was telling the truth, though he was nonetheless extremely anxious about using the parking space, and something sharp in his abdomen tightened upon reaching that bronze gate. Vernon had to roll down his window and partially lean outside to press in the code read from Wonwoo’s phone.

They both cast each other a bewildered glance when the gate separated automatically, allowing them access down the slant.

“Rich people can just do whatever they fuck they want, can’t they?” Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me not to steal anything while we’re wanderin’ around in there.”

But Wonwoo couldn’t say anything even half-conscious in response to his friend’s lazy joke. He was too busy focusing his breathing.

“Jeez, it's about time, huh?” Vernon’s words sounded rife with electricity as they approached the main entryway to the house, the brisk, nighttime air blowing back against their heated faces.

They had already witnessed several people slipping inside and out, to which the shuddering, clear blurt of the music would escape the doorway—not that they couldn’t hear it already. The deep and rhythmic bass was emanating from within Seungcheol’s house like a growl caught in a beast’s belly, and Wonwoo could only fathom what kind of damage his eardrums might sustain after the night was over.

Right before Vernon could touch the handle, the doors abruptly burst open with an aggressive swing, revealing two girls who were latched hand in hand, giggling to each other. The distinct stench of marijuana clouded after them down the steps.

Vernon opted to catch the left door before it could close.

“After you, Glasses,” he invited with an almost glimmering smirk, then gesturing inward at the practical void that awaited him—auroras of flashing light, loud conversation, and pounding music.

It seemed like stepping into another universe.

“Thanks for the chivalry,” Wonwoo answered.

He then forced himself into the mansion, not allowing the empty space in his mind to concoct ample regret or doubt. Vernon followed suit, the large door slamming shut in a forbidding manner behind the two boys, akin to a shoving a cork on a glass bottle and capturing all the sand grains inside. Wonwoo knew he could leave, though it didn’t feel like it. However, he didn’t want to act defeated before even starting the night. Maybe some of Seokmin’s miraculous optimism gloss would rub off on him before it was too late.

The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea what to think or do nor could he develop one sensible, sound thought that he might express to Vernon—the house was alive with what seemed to be a mighty sea of people. Some were mingling with their drinks loosely held in an attempt to feign casualness, pitching conversation despite the unrelenting music. Others were clashed together, dirty dancing, hands carnally wandering, probably thinking nothing other than how good it felt to be a part of the moment. Everything was so dim and dark. Lights blotched around the room in deep purples and blues.

Wonwoo had suddenly forgotten how to even move.

Until Vernon’s hand slapped his shoulder.

“Hey, what should we start with?!” His friend had practically shouted over the music and its hypnotizing synths. “Do you wanna get a drink? Smoke one out? Or should we find Seokmin?”

For a moment, Wonwoo just stared at him, trying hard through the murkiness and heat to match the words he was hearing with Vernon’s lips. The environment would take a bit getting used to.

“Also—,” he then grabbed Wonwoo’s shoulder, “—let’s move away from the door before we get fuckin’ trampled, yeah?”

Vernon helped guide Wonwoo further into the main living area, down a few stairs and toward the large square of couches. There was hardly any room to sit without being uncomfortably close to someone else—they were either in another person’s lap, swapping a disgusting amount of liquored spit, or completely faded and about as coherent as a rock. Wonwoo didn’t want to sit, anyway. He looked down at his phone, noticing that Seokmin had texted him again.

“Um, what do you want to do?” He decided to flip the question on Vernon, not wanting to be tasked with the decision.

Besides, he assumed his friend would know better.

“Me? I want a fuckin’ drink!” Vernon began to look around, though the air was notably veiled with a thin smoke and all the bodies were obstructing much view of anything. “Oh—I told you already, didn’t I?! That I’m definitely intendin’ to get shitfaced?! Did you figure out a ride in case you wanted t’go home later on?”

As Vernon began his quest to find a drink, Wonwoo was right behind him, remembering that Vernon had mentioned it already.

“I know!” He called out while reading Seokmin’s text.

[ Seokmin | 11:00 pm ]: There’s like two big living spaces

[ Seokmin | 11:00 pm ]: We’re not in the main one tho, easiest way is to go through the kitchen and out the other side!

Wonwoo had thought you would text him, and he couldn’t evade his disappointment at the expectation. He decided to assume that maybe you just didn’t know he was there yet. At most, he hoped you weren’t too blasted and at least cognizant enough to hold a conversation with him. Though, Wonwoo had not one inkling as to what you were like at parties. He could only imagine from the scattered bits and pieces he’d heard from yourself and Vernon. 

As Wonwoo followed Vernon down a foggy corridor, he suddenly bumped into the boy’s hard back with a bothered grunt. A girl had stepped out from a threshold that led into the kitchen and he realized that Vernon was only letting her leave before they entered.

She leaned in rather close to Vernon’s face, stroking a quick, flirtatious hand along the divots in his defined chest as she lilted aloud, “thanks, gorgeous.”

Her gaze switched to linger on Wonwoo for what felt like a long, excruciating eternity before proceeding past them in a confident stride down the dark and narrow hallway. Vernon kissed his teeth, staring back at Wonwoo with that hedonistic twinkle in his eyes.

“Okay—she was fine, not gonna lie.”

“Mmhm,” Wonwoo mumbled, adjusting his glasses, “can we at least get a drink first before you decide to start fucking people?”

“Why do you think we’re at the kitchen, smart ass?”

Shaking his head in dismissal at Vernon’s snarky comment, he urged the boy impatiently into the kitchen area (which was admittedly larger than Wonwoo’s entire living space).

One side of the room was lined with arrays of salty snacks, while the opposite contained big, rounded punch bowls of pre-mixed alcohol that people were dipping into with ladles. Vernon had noticed the option to mix your own drink, and thus Wonwoo was dragged toward the kitchen island where the boys waited to pick from the various bottles of alcohol and soft drinks left scattered about.

Wonwoo peeped down at his phone again while Vernon got easily caught up in conversation with a girl preparing a lemon shot.

He finally answered Seokmin’s texts.

“Hey, Glasses!” Vernon’s hand latched onto his shoulder, giving it a shake. “This is Sierra! She’s gonna make us our drinks!”

It took him a moment to properly decipher the girl Vernon had been speaking to, though, the longer he squinted through the shifty kitchen lighting, the more he could separate her silhouette and features from the dimness. She had a comfortable smile, full and warm, trustworthy, and so Wonwoo merely shrugged his agreement.

“Don’t worry,” the girl shouted, pulling aside two solo cups and then twizzling off the bottlecap to the rum, “I’m a bartender, actually. I used to work Room 319. Now I’m at Honeymoon.”

Vernon leaned his elbows on the granite, watching with intrigue as she sloshed a decent amount of alcohol into each cup.

“Room 319? You’ve definitely seen some shit,” he cackled.

“Oh, yeah. One-hundred percent.”

“Y’know, I tried getting this cunt to go—” Vernon jabbed an accusing thumb back at Wonwoo, “—but he’s such a flake!”

Sierra proceeded to grin quite demurely, flashing a quick, barely detectable glance toward Wonwoo, who had just managed to catch it while shoving the phone back into his pocket. She then grabbed a sweetener from amongst the clutter, tucking a short tuft of hair behind her ear before adding a small drizzle to each solo cup.

“Hey, it’s not for everybody!” Her cheeks flushed in the galactic, purplish light that flickered around the kitchen. “And, uh, this may sound weird, actually. But I recognize you, I think.”

“Oh, me?” Wonwoo was finally forced to speak.

“Yeah, uh—” she stumbled over her words a bit as she swirled the sweetener around inside the cups, “—from Bradbrook’s calculus. I think you sat a few rows ahead of me, or something. I just know because I, um—I was really close to failing the class. When I went to her for help, she gave me a ton of resources, even said I could try asking you about tutoring. She said you’re like, her best student.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, cracking his neck, “I’ve never tutored anyone—don’t know why she’d think to recommend me.”

“It’s okay! I never asked because you seemed like the type who didn’t want to be bothered,” Sierra responded, beginning to top off the drinks with some bubbling soda. “I figured it out, anyway.”

“Good for you,” Wonwoo commended.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if it was you, ‘cause your hair would always be down over your forehead in class. But you’ve got it all brushed and styled and stuff. It looks super nice!”

He smiled at her and mumbled, “thanks.”

“Well, I’m gonna get running! No matter where I end up, I always seem to be everyone’s mixologist at some point.”

Vernon dragged the alcohol over, maintaining his slouched position onto the island granite. Upon taking an experimental sip to taste the flavours and potency, his face momentarily soured, and then all his features relaxed. He was glowing like an ember, almost.

“No, that’s good. Tastes a bit like a… gummy bear?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s so delicious,” she agreed, shoving hands into her back pockets. “Tastes even better kissing it off someone.”

As Wonwoo stared down at his fizzling drink, debating his first sip, he again felt the transient flittering of her eyes ghost him.

“Go figure,” Vernon rasped, smiling, “appreciate it, player.”

“M’kay,” Sierra chirped and waved, ”bye!”

Not even a few seconds after she left, and someone else swooped in like an eagle to clasp the bottle of rum she’d once been handling, Vernon turned his head to Wonwoo with a raised brow.

“She was DTF for you, holy shit.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo sounded muffled with the solo cup now perched at his lips, allowing the drink to seep into his mouth, tasting the smoothness of the rum, and then the sweet. “What’s that mean?”

“DTF?” Vernon echoed. “Down to fuck!” He smacked his arm.

“That’s stupid and absurd.”

“Well, Glasses, you’re fuckin’ stupid and absurd if you didn’t see it. I mean, if you’re not gonna get a chance with Her, mine as well start seekin’ out what you can. Might make you less uptight.”

“No—that’s what makes you less uptight, not me.”

“I’m just sayin’, man—you’re hot and you don’t even take advantage of it. In no shapes or figures… forms? Whatever the stupid sayin’ is. You’ve got to live a little. But, whatever. Where’s Seokmin?”

“Through there, I think?” Wonwoo nodded toward a high-arched exit opposite to the side they entered the kitchen from. “That’s what he texted me. But I’ll double check anyway, to be sure.”

Flashing on his phone, Wonwoo finally saw your messages.

[ Her | 11:11 pm ]: wonwooooooo

[ Her | 11:11 pm ]: LIVING ROOM! I'm waiting!!!!

And just like that—like a splitting snap of the fingers—he felt everything all over again, and those nerves steamrolled him in the most pathetic way possible.

He stared down at his phone, moonfaced.

Wonwoo was happy you had remembered to message him, embarrassingly giddy at the thought, even. But he was also downright nauseous to reunite with your inquisitive friends, to meet Seungcheol, to again push through the intangible, brooding weight of seeing Mingyu. He took a gulp from the red cup, swishing the tart but sugared concoction between his cheeks before swallowing, hoping the rum burned down all his nerves in the throaty sting it left behind.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo rediscovered his voice, “through there.”

At first, he couldn’t identify you anywhere. The room was even bigger than the kitchen, just as poorly lit, with a high, pointed ceiling that somehow reminded him of the church he attended when he was too little to even properly grasp religion. But Wonwoo continued squinting through the jumbled crowd, making slow steps and surveiling the room each time alongside Vernon.

“I don’t see ‘em!” He shouted overtop the music, grabbing Wonwoo’s elbow to stop him from moulding into all the warm bodies.

“He said they’re in here!” Wonwoo raised his voice, checking his phone for another text, but seeing nothing. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

Sensing that fluttering, unsteady wind in his chest, Wonwoo was eager to indulge in another sip from his cup, desperately yearning for the alcohol to fucking hurry up and take its floating effect. Yet, as the taste subdued on his tongue, Wonwoo was able to notice a slight fissure that formed in between the congregation of people—a rather perfect alignment that revealed a home bar across the room, with familiar faces seated at the stools and more laughing behind the counter. That was when Wonwoo saw you, captured in a brush stroke of sweeping, amethyst light that dappled down your body.

You were leaned leisurely against Mingyu’s chest, holding onto his arm that draped like a protective sling over your shoulder, and Wonwoo supposed it was laid there with a not-so-subtle purpose.

Mingyu was speaking to his friend and co-host, Seungcheol, who was on the other side of the home bar, his lower back digging against the counter while he had quirked his head to still see Mingyu.

One face that Wonwoo had yet to discern was Seokmin, though, in all his honestly, Wonwoo wasn’t that fixated on further searching the low dusk and marijuana plumes hanging tacky in the air. He’d found you. All those nerves dissolved into comfort.

Maybe it was shallow, but that’s what he cared about most.

“Oh!’ Vernon piped up. “Damn. They’re right down there.”

And, before the crowd could readjust themselves to drown the slivered space between yourself and Wonwoo, your head turned.

In the nick of time, you seemed to recognize him, because that hazy, unfocused nature about your countenance shifted in a mere second, and he saw a smile pick its way along your mouth, like a springtime garden at last twirling abloom. You proceeded to nudge Mingyu’s arm aside, whispering something into his ear that he didn’t quite seem to hear correctly as he maintained his lengthy talk with Seungcheol.

Wonwoo knew he was smiling, too, bigger and bigger.

You wove your way through the crowd, to which Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from the short chuckle he spat out as you impatiently shoved aside the guy that had stepped into your way.

“Move! Oh my fucking God—”

But your flash of contempt didn’t last long.

A second later, you were buckling into Wonwoo.

Your arms reached up to curl tightly around his neck, and he felt the grooves of your warm, soft body press firm against him for the first time. Wonwoo was scared at the proximity, though his pounding heart ever so gradually calmed as he took in a deep breath and smelled that faint, fresh scent—strawberries. While it was undoubtedly integrated with some sort of spicy liquor, Wonwoo didn’t care. He pulled himself into the moment—realized how fucking badly he wanted to drop the solo cup and splay his hands at the open, revealing back of your outfit and feel your bare, supple skin.

But he couldn’t. Because Wonwoo wasn’t your boyfriend.

And you weren’t his to so unabashedly touch.

“I’m so fucking happy you made it!” He heard you squeal into his ear, his smile somehow widening at your animated voice.

“Yeah? Bit of a hassle, not gonna lie," Wonwoo answered.

“Parking? I’m sorry! I should have texted you about the gate!”

“No, no,” he laughed, trying his best and gentlest way to somehow ease some space in between you, “it’s okay. Everything worked out perfectly fine in the end. Don’t worry about it, alright?”

“You sure?”

Wonwoo looked into your eyes, so enchantingly bright and glistering as you blinked at him sympathetically, wearing a tiny pout.

Fuck—he wanted to kiss you.

It was such a blatant, jarring thought that Wonwoo couldn’t respond to your worry straight away, instead pushing down his urges.

“… I’m sure.”

“Well,” you then hummed, at last relaxing your hold around his neck and making some very unwanted but necessary space between your bodies, “is it still true?” You bit your lip afterward.

“Hm? Is what still true?”

Upon Wonwoo furrowing his brow, you pressed into him again, reaching up to his ear where you could comfortably talk and not worry about whether the music would muffle every syllable.

He felt the warmth of your breath tickle at his skin. And then—shivers, everywhere. Trickling down his spine. His nape. Not the kind from chilly, cold weather, or a scary movie, but a different kind that prompted his sense to disintegrate in a simple second.

“Do you still think I’m the prettiest here?”

Wonwoo sensed the grin paint his face, as easy as melting butter, though he hid it well in your sweet-scented hair.

“Mmhm, ‘course you are,” he answered, purposefully deepening his already deep voice. “You’re always the prettiest.”

One of your charming, seraphic giggles feathered at his ear and Wonwoo had never been so convinced that he would exchange just about anything in his life to call you his for the entire night.

“Um, hey, so… I don’t want to fuckin’ ruin your guys’ little reunion or nothin’, but I am still here, unfortunately!”

Damn—Wonwoo had kind of forgotten that Vernon was even there, and hearing his gruff voice break through the room’s drumming bass had quickly removed him from his fantasy. In a way, he was relieved, because Wonwoo knew he’d been thinking with unprecedented delusion and he needed something to draw a ripple through his thoughts before he became too meek to ignore them.

You then slotted yourself against Wonwoo’s side, adjusting the white strap grooving around the back of your neck. One arm remained around his wideset shoulders, latching him into place.

“Well, that’s an immaculate face I haven’t seen in a while,” you deadpanned at poor Vernon, sculpting him up and down with shameless judgement. “And what have you been up to? Selling MDMA from behind porta-potties to dumb, gullible first years?”

But Vernon took it well, as he was most likely expecting it.

“So, I won’t say no or yes to that.”

“Hm. Figures.”

Vernon shook his head, mustering up a husky laugh. “Should I assume you haven’t gotten over our incident, yet?”

Wonwoo felt your ovaled, sharp fingernails dig into his shoulder, and he settled his hand on your upper back to relax you.

“I’ll get over it when I want to get over it.”

“Okay, okay." A smile bled across Vernon’s face. “And I respect that, yeah? How ‘bout we both agree to keep it lax? That work at all?”

Despite your narrowed, seething eyes, you agreed.

“It works, for now.” You were in the midst of turning around, as though to begin pulling Wonwoo toward the bar, but you suddenly stopped on a dime, returning your glared focus back toward an unsuspecting, more lenient Vernon. “By the way, Princess is in a relationship with Seungcheol, so paws off. And don’t even think about trying to fuck Clara or Bells again or else you’ll need to take every single pill you fucking own in order to feel even a fraction of anything after I’m done beating your breaks off. Understand?”

“Uh, yes. I do. I understand.”

And then you grinned, though it was colder than outer space, and Wonwoo was more than pleased he wasn’t on the receiving end.

“Perfect! Now, let’s get everyone all introduced. I promise, though, there’s not many strangers. I guess just Seungcheol? Some of his friends are around here somewhere, I don’t know where.”

You curled an arm around Wonwoo’s elbow and began tugging him into the barricade of people, most stepping aside for you without request, like you were a princess or some other type of respected royalty. Wonwoo glanced back at Vernon who was already giving him a wide-eyed, skeptical expression, and so he made sure to dip his head close to Vernon’s ear to murmur some encouragement.

“At least your head isn’t ripped off.”

However, it might have not been the most thoughtful.

“Yeah, meta-fuckin’-phorically it is,” Vernon laughed back. “I forgot how scary the chick is. How have you not pissed your pants yet?”

“You get used to it after a while. N’hey—when the hell did you have sex with Clara and Bells?" Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from asking over his shoulder as he was further pulled along by your persistent guide.

“It was before you got to know Her, alright? But—” Vernon had suddenly leaned closer, his breath at Wonwoo’s ear, “—Bells is a fuckin’ homie hopper. Guaranteed she’ll try to get into your pants. I know she’s tried it with Seungcheol, Seokmin, probably you, tonight.”

“Well, you two sound like a match made in heaven.”

“Ha! Funny, man,” Vernon cackled, shoving his friend’s back in a teasing way. “No—she’s actually crazy. Gives good head, though.”

Wonwoo opted to ignore the last comment. He was soon at the bar alongside you, Vernon, and all the others, to which he noted your arm was still clasped around his elbow, a gesture that Wonwoo found himself greatly appreciating as everyone began pausing their own conversations to acknowledge the two newcomers. He didn’t know who to look at or greet first as his heartbeat thundered, though he recognized Clara and Bells seated together on two leather stools, a few emptied shot glasses aligned before them like dominos.

Princess, the friend Wonwoo always thought you were closest to, was behind the counter with Seungcheol, staring Wonwoo down through her hooded and smooth brown eyes. He felt Mingyu watching him too, though it discomforted him much more than Princess.

“Hey, nice to meet you guys, finally.” Seungcheol was leaning over the luminated countertop, bumping his fist against Wonwoo’s, and then Vernon’s. “Hope you’re finding it alright.”

Wonwoo had never met Seungcheol despite hearing his name frequently throughout campus, especially during the prime months for partying. The consensus was that everyone seemed to like and respect him for his cordial, easygoing attitude and sportsmanship, since he played a lot of basketball for the university’s principal varsity team. Wonwoo had never once heard anything concerning or relatively malicious about the guy. He was almost akin to a celebrity.

“We got in not too long ago,” Vernon explained, and Wonwoo was grateful he took the conversating initiative, “seems crazy. And thanks for lettin’ us use your garage! Street parkin’ was ass.”

“Shit, yeah. I get it.” Seungcheol shrugged in agreement, meanwhile drawing a shallow glass over to himself. “It’s no problem, man. You did us a favour with the blow. I’ll pay upstairs, yeah?”

“Hey, it’s all good. What’re you pourin’ up?’

Princess suddenly reached around Seungcheol’s shoulder, removing the large, maple bottle he was about to twist open.

“He’s not pouring up anything,” she smiled, placing the alcohol on a shelf behind her, “because whiskey gets him beyond hammered, and I need him coherent for at least another hour.”

Seungcheol turned around, his mouth hung open.

“Okay—I was gonna pour out a splash.”

The girl grabbed his sharp jaw, giving Seungcheol’s face a tender shake before pushing her lips against his. His previous objection suddenly disappeared like morning dew. For a couple that had recently started dating according to your allegory, they seemed remarkably comfortable with each other.

“Okay—shot, shot!” Bells yelped excitedly, slapping her hand against the polished countertop as Clara grabbed a tequila bottle.

“Oh, god.” Your eyes rolled, and Wonwoo heard the exhaustion in your tone. “Have fun getting alcohol poisoning.”

Mingyu scoffed, crossing his broad, buff arms. “They’ll be blackout in less than an hour.”

“What for?” Vernon asked.

You finally let go of Wonwoo, grabbing your own solo cup off the countertop and taking a fast swig before answering.

“Whenever Seungcheol and Princess kiss, they take a shot.”

“And they kiss a lot—" Clara hiccupped, a very inebriated fog cast across her gaze, “— even more than Her n’ Mingyu!”

“Oh, don’t bring us into this,” you snapped from behind your drink, leaning an elbow onto the bar, “take your shot and can it.”

“I’m starting to not even taste it!”

The giggling spilled from Bells’ mouth like a waterspout, to which both her and Clara leaned in close to each other’s faces, their expressions warping with breathless, dry gulps of laughter.

“Excuse them,” Princess then muttered, resting an arm along Seungcheol’s firm back, waves of moonlit blue dancing across her dark skin while she eyed her cackling friends with bits of judgement and concern. “I’m starting to believe they have an alcohol problem.”

“So, if I lose you later, should I assume you’re in the washroom holding back their hair?” Seungcheol then huffed into his clasped hands, flicking soft eyes up toward his sighing girlfriend.

She pulled at a long braid of her hair, nodding.

“If I’m not, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Fuck, I like those odds, baby," he rasped, leaning back.

Princess smiled, squeezing his shoulder.

“No, you absolutely don’t, sweetheart.”

Wonwoo smiled at them, exercising his best effort to follow all the conversation even though his brain was whirring on overdrive. He was in the midst of sipping from the sweetened rum when Clara’s eyes snapped akin to a locket with his own, and she immediately squealed.

“Oh! You! From Spring Street! Mr. Deep Voice!”

Lowering the cup from his face, Wonwoo’s heart dropped.

He was more than perfectly okay with sitting on the sidelines and contributing nothing to the flow of conversation other than trivial nods and agreeable half-smiles. But Clara had singled him out, and now Bells was at last squirming around in her seat, her eyes patted with a popping, brilliant lime green as opposed to shimmery blue.

You tilted your head in questioning at Clara. “Yes, yes, we’ve been over this, girl. He’s been standing here the past five minutes.”

“Wonwoo!” Bells shrieked. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“He doesn’t need to say anything.” Wonwoo heard the irritable grit rub through your voice as you straightened your posture and propped a hand to your hip, glaring at your friends. “Why don’t you let him enjoy his drink instead of shouting at him?”

From behind, Mingyu’s large hand slid around your waist and stopped at your lower stomach, pulling you a step back into his chest.

“Relax. She’s drunk as fuck, alright?” He murmured by your temple, planting a reassuring kiss.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Princess was quick to diffuse any degree of tension before it could morph into a terrifying flame. “He’s just quiet, that’s all. Nothing wrong with it. I like your hair, Wonwoo.”

He clenched his fist tight, nodding at her.

“Thanks.”

It was only one goddamn word, but he’d choked it out with all the strength harboured in his chest and lungs. Princess smiled at him.

“Glasses is cool. All his jokes will come out later.” Vernon teased despite the instant, needling stare Wonwoo shot his way.

“Hey, no pressure,” Seungcheol laughed, swiping his phone off the bar countertop. “Should we all head upstairs? I’ve got a nice little room set up for us—can smoke and mellow out a bit, play some cards, finally get to that blow—whatever you guys think is best.”

“Fuck, I’m down.” Sliding off the leather stool, Mingyu came to his feet and agreed, his hand still settled at your stomach.

His utterance was met with a chorus of likewise answers.

Wonwoo suddenly felt your fingertips graze his hand.

“Are you okay with that?” You asked him personally, smiling in a reassuring, nonchalant manner that helped ease his stiltedness.

“Yeah,” he answered, delighted to see the sparks that jumped into your eyes through the shadows and nebulas of lavender light.

The room Seungcheol had referred to was quite separated from the party booming onward downstairs, though he claimed not to be worried about it much since his other friends were keeping tabs on all the action. Wonwoo appreciated the quieter, more laidback atmosphere that allowed him to actually think and analyze his situation, which he unfortunately could not help himself from doing.

It was a cozy and personally developed space—probably the room Seungcheol spent most of his time in. Large, pristine movie posters were perfectly tapered to covering an entire wall, with stringed, dull-glowing lights swooped around the wooden infrastructure of the ceiling. A billiard ball table was toward the left, and then a circular table to the right, stacked with miscellaneous things such as playing cards, textbooks, and poker chips.

There were some shelves by the windows, mostly to hold decorative items, though Wonwoo saw a number of trophies from what he assumed to be Seungcheol’s past sports competitions. 

Everyone began to settle.

As Vernon waltzed over to the couch by the cluttered table, he’d suddenly looked down at the cushions with a gruff shout.

“Fuck! Jesus Christ, Seokmin! What the fuck are you doin’?”

“Oh, yeah—the poor baby got a headache,” you crooned, walking toward the couch with a teasing smirk. “He thought he’d try and avoid all of us by coming up here and taking a nap.”

“I wasn’t napping,” Seokmin grumbled while pushing himself to sit up, swatting back your hand that rifled through his dark brown tresses disarrayed in every direction, “I was relaxing, that’s all.”

“Dude, you looked like you were dead,” Vernon laughed, stepping around from behind the couch to sit on the arm.

Leaning against a desk with two large speakers on it, Mingyu folded his arms, smiling at Seokmin whose face was beginning to tint red from all the attention. “That’s just how he looks when he sleeps.”

“Thanks…” Seokmin answered, standing up and dusting himself off. “Guess I’m never staying the night at your place again.”

“Well, if you’re not going to take the couch, I think these two should simmer down for a hot minute,” Princess said, shuffling the stumbling, giggling duo, Bells and Clara, to take a much needed seat.

“Okay, yeah. Mingyu, throw on some music. Give everyone a chance to get nice n’ comfy.” Seungcheol then beckoned toward Vernon. “Over here, man. Let’s get this shit sorted out.”

“Ah, right, right.”

His friend was quick to rise from the couch and meet Seungcheol in the corner of the room, by the billiard table as well as a small black safe. Mingyu pulled out his phone, linking up his Bluetooth with Seungcheol’s expensive sound system, and music soon replaced the empty air in the room. He then joined Seungcheol and Vernon in the corner. Wonwoo opted not to sleuth and glanced elsewhere.

He saw that you were already talking to Princess, the two of you pulling out some beers and other drinks from a fridge he hadn’t noticed before, and while he positively wanted to make time for a conversation with you, Wonwoo thought he should bother Seokmin first. The boy was shoving open a windowpane across the room.

“Hey, liar,” he announced in a dragging but not overly serious tone. “Not downstairs like you said you were, huh?”

Seokmin turned around, rubbing his face.

“I know, I know. I got a headache at the last minute. But I knew everyone would come upstairs. Glad you could make it!”

“Well then, how much of a headache should I be expecting?”

“Eh, depends,” his friend answered.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Depends on what?”

“I can’t imagine you jumping around on a countertop with your shirt off and a whippet in your hand.”

He snorted. “Is that what you were doing?”

“No—I was the one trying to get them off the counter.”

“Fair.”

 “I think you’ll be fine. At most, you’ll step outside for some air and get a nice breeze in your hair. No biggie… what’s that?”

“Uh, just a drink this girl whipped up. Sierra.”

“Oh.” Seokmin’s eyes brightened. “You mean Sierra Gomez?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Did she have like, chin length, sort of coarse and frizzy brown hair? Freckles all over her cheeks? ‘Cause that’s Sierra Gomez. She works at the… the, um… Honeymoon! Yeah. The Honeymoon. She’s nice—used to stare at the back of your head all the time in calculus.”

“Hm.”

“Anyway—whatever—random thought.”

“Who used to stare at the back of your head in calculus?”

Turning around, Wonwoo noticed that you had approached their conversation at the open window, an abrupt flourish of wind sweeping back unto your inquisitive yet slightly firm expression. A bottle was in your hand, and you took a quick, easy sip from it.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Seokmin dismissed.

“No, tell me.”

Your eyes then flitted between himself and Seokmin. There was an innocent smile on your face that nursed the beer bottle.

“A girl who used to look at Wonwoo all the time during calculus with Bradbrook. She made him his drink, that’s all.”

“Really? Is that so?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Apparently.”

“Who?” You asked, still maintaining that polished smile.

Seokmin chuckled, “nah, you wouldn’t know her.”

“Maybe I do.”

“No,” he was persistent on convincing you, pulling at the flushed cusp of his ear, “I know you don’t. It’s not a big deal.”

Your focused gaze then lasered into Seokmin, and much of the airy politeness to your voice had gradually sharpened out.

“If it’s not a big deal then tell me.”

Music from the speaker system atop the nearby desk drowned the momentary silence that lasted between the three. Wonwoo concentrated on the lyrics and the depth of the sensual beat, trying his hardest to mentally escape the odd tension smouldering up.

Seokmin was biting his lip, hard.

“Tell me.” You now were demanding rather than asking.

“It’s not—”

“Seokmin!”

“Okay, okay! Sierra Gomez. That’s the girl.”

Wonwoo shifted his eyes to you, observing the manner in which you quirked your head, pursed your bottom lip, and began staring around the room in an honest attempt to place the name that Seokmin had so frighteningly blurted, almost like a suspect under interrogation. And then you were shrugging, sipping from your cold drink.

“Hm, don’t know her.”

“Like I said...” his friend sighed, leaning backward into the cool breeze and settling his hands against the windowsill.

“She’s here? And she made you that?” You asked.

Wonwoo looked down at his cup, almost completely emptied.

“… Um, yeah.”

There was a nearly imperceptible falter that spilt across your face, though it travelled so quickly, like a blink of light, and Wonwoo was starting to think that maybe he hadn’t even seen it at all.

“Well, that was really nice of her.” A strange breathiness lingered in your tone. “I mean, I don’t know her but she sounds really… nice. I’ll have to chat with her someday. I don’t know what we’ll talk about… something nice, probably. Yeah. We’ll do that.”

Upon sensing your very unusual discomfort, Wonwoo thought he might try to quell whatever series of emotions must be taking shape behind those glassy eyes. But almost from thin air, Mingyu was at your side, sliding an arm around your waist and his head poking down to kiss your cheek. Wonwoo ate his words right back up.

“Sorry to bite the conversation,” Mingyu excused himself, removing the arm from your waist to hang off your shoulder instead, where it covered the same revealing patch of your cleavage. “But I like keeping an eye on this one—” he pecked your temple, “—one sip she’s normal, the next she’s on top of the damn table giving everyone a fuckin’ show they don’t deserve. Hard to tell what she’s gonna do.”

Your uptight posture melted habitually against Mingyu’s chest, meanwhile a slight snarl forged across your lips.

Wonwoo knew that his drink was getting empty, and he didn’t want to waste the remainder on trying to survive the unfortunate conversation he’d been whisked into. He realized how much he hated talking to Mingyu, especially now that Wonwoo was closer to you.

“Alright, you don’t need to overembellish.”

“Ha! Overembellish?” A heavy laugh flew off Mingyu’s tongue as he gave your shoulder a soft shake, staring down at you with his curious, twinkling eyes. “What am I overembellishing, pretty girl? Huh? You don’t remember that dance with Clara? Kicking that dude’s drink off the table? High out of your fuckin’ mind, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I remember. My problem is that you’re painting me out to be a mindless slut just waiting to show off. It’s not like I go into these situations, intending to get on a table and kick people’s drinks and shit. I’m just going with what I feel in the moment. I mean, I’m sure it gets a bit slutty. But that’s part of the fun. At least, I think.”

Okay—Wonwoo didn’t give a fuck about preserving his drink any more. He immediately dove in to take a generous sip, staring down the cup like there was something profoundly captivating scribbled on the bottom. Now that he was thinking about it, Wonwoo realized this is his first time witnessing your dynamic with Mingyu.

Mingyu sighed, tongue prodding against his inner cheek.

“Can’t make it easy, can you?”

At that, you cackled, tipping your head against his neck.

“Never. You should know that by now.”

“The important thing is, everyone has a good time.” Seokmin decided to add his two cents, not seeming as stiffened by the conversation as Wonwoo, probably since he was accustomed to it.

Nonetheless, it prompted your signature eye roll.

“Hey everyone! Seokmin thinks the most important part of a party is that everyone has a good time!” You mockingly chided, proceeding to raise the bottle to your mouth for another sip while Mingyu rubbed his nose, laughing. “Did that really need to be said?”

Partially closing the window, Seokmin chuckled. “I’m just saying it ‘cause you guys always bicker and bring the mood down.”

Your grip around the beer bottle visibly tightened.

“Bicker?! We don’t bicker!”

“Are you serious?” Seokmin folded his arms, a disbelieving smile mixed with puzzlement carving his mouth. “You just did!”

“No, that wasn’t bickering," you stated. “That was Mingyu saying something stupid and me correcting it. Purely factual.”

Shaking his head, Mingyu merely smirked. “Mmhm. Let’s go with that.” Though, it was quite obvious he was holding back what he actually wanted to say, but didn’t want to prove Seokmin’s point.

“Anyways, I’m not trying to make you look bad,” Seokmin mumbled, brushing a hand along an itch on his arm. “So, whatever you see here, Wonwoo, take it with a grain of salt, I guess.”

God, no.

He’d wanted so desperately to remain invisible—to not be summoned into the conversation in any way, shape, or form.

“Please,” you sounded exasperated, messing about with your hair, “I’m sure Wonwoo’d be the last person to care, anyway.”

At the worst possible time, he’d completely exhausted his soda and rum, and there was not even a single drop for him to make a lame show of sipping up. Wonwoo didn’t know whether or not to say anything. Maybe, if he just smiled genuinely, nodded his head, then everything would keep moving and he could somehow escape the burdensome pressure. However, what he failed to realize was that his overthinking gave him a very dazed expression that made it seem as though he wasn’t listening at all. Seokmin suddenly slapped his arm.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Dude’s not even paying attention. Mentally checked out ‘cause of your arguing.”

“No. I’m listening,” Wonwoo answered, knowing the longer he stayed quiet the more guilty and strange he’d appear. “I just figure it’s better to let you guys hash it out. I’d rather not get involved.”

“Smart,” Mingyu huffed, to which Wonwoo found himself in the crosshairs of his intimidating gaze. “Best not to pick sides, right?”

“Oh my gosh, there are no sides.” Elbowing the tall, dark-haired boy gently in his rib, you shook your head. “And even if there were, I’m forcing him to take my side. You obviously have Seokmin.”

“When you are going to stop saying that?” Mingyu sounded notably annoyed at your comment, though you merely shrugged it off, instead wrapping a small hand with his in a successful attempt to pull him away from the conversation at the breezy window.

“Don’t whine, Gyu. Let’s go talk to Princess.”

Once you were gone, Wonwoo looked to Seokmin with some vague hope that he would share his astonishment at the situation. He couldn’t tell if you and Mingyu just clashed so naturally because your relationship was the long lasting, weathered kind where there were lots of little quips due to your shared comfortability. Or, maybe there was something else he was missing. But Seokmin didn’t seem even relatively phased, which lead Wonwoo into thinking that it was his overanalyzing brain picking things apart unnecessarily.

“Oh, I’ve gotta talk with Vernon for a sec.” His friend remembered, pointing out the tattooed boy who was closely admiring all the expensively framed film posters. “Nice to see you, though!”

The second Seokmin had slipped away, Wonwoo occupied his old position against the windowsill, letting his head tilt back until it bumped with the glass. A timidly building sickness ached in his stomach at the worry of all his conversations feeling like that—so agonizing, uncomfortable, with his mind racing a mile a minute.

He sighed aloud, attempting to steady his breathing.

Things would get better. They had to.

“Hey, Wonwoo! You wanna sit?”

Following the abrupt voice over to the now organized, tidied table, Wonwoo saw that it was Seungcheol who called his name. He tilted his head at an empty seat and Wonwoo decided to take the boy up on the offer rather than stumble into the undertow of his self-inflicted panic. Besides, Seungcheol was fairly relaxed and seemed easy to converse with—a much needed repose from Mingyu. As he sat down, setting his empty cup aside, Seungcheol leaned forward with his chin pressing down between his thumb and index finger.

“You okay?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Wonwoo nodded. “I’m good.”

Relaxing back into his seat, Seungcheol smiled.

“Just making sure. I know it’s not always the easiest trying to make it through a Her-Mingyu-Seokmin three-way—pause—ignore how weirdly I phrased that,” he laughed, rubbing along his jaw.

The air around Wonwoo tinged with an immediate sense of relief, and he found himself relaxing, too, stretching out his legs.

“Yeah,” he then breathed out deeply, the tension in his chest loosening up. “I assume it’s best to just shut the fuck up.”

“Mmhm.” Seungcheol was eager to nod in agreement. “Yeah, exactly. Shut the fuck up, and give the most neutral answers if needed. It’s honestly a skill. You’ve gotta be a world class fence sitter.”

“So it seems.”

“Anyway, I’m curious—what’re you studying?”

“Nothing exciting. Mathematics, specifically calculus. I like a bit of data and statistics, too. I don’t know. Just, analyzing stuff.”

“Hm,” Seungcheol crossed his arms, grinning, “can’t say I’d be very good at all that. You want to be a data analyst or something?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve thought about teaching, too.”

“University?”

“Yeah… I heard you’re in biomedical now.”

“Mmhm—switched my whole degree—can thank Junhui for that. He’s around here, somewhere. I like it, though. No regrets about it or anything. Besides—” Seungcheol turned his head toward the billiard ball table where Princess was chatting with you and Mingyu, a fond, amorous expression softening his face, “—that’s how I met Princess. I mean, she’s so intelligent, level-headed, thoughtful. Finally worked up the courage to ask her out, like… two months ago, now? Things have been smooth sailing since.”

“I can see that. You guys mesh together well,” Wonwoo answered, at first staring at Princess, but sensing his eyes naturally drift toward you and that tight hold Mingyu had at your bare waist.

“Thanks, man. Hey—I should say congrats, by the way.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo mumbled, spreading his legs. “What for?”

“Frontiers. You got a super good score.”

“Oh, that… uh, thanks. I mean, it was last year.”

Seungcheol’s face immediately scrunched with laughter.

“What?”

“Shit. It’s nothing.” Seungcheol was still chuckling a bit between his breathy words. “I love how you shrug it off. Like, whenever your name comes up, it’s always next to how smart you are, man. I love that you don’t even fucking care. If that were me, I’d be the most pretentious piece of shit—it’s actually insane.”

Wonwoo paused for a second to think, looking at his sneakers, and then back at Seungcheol, the cogs in his mind beginning to whirr.

“I didn’t think my name would come up much. If at all.”

“No, no, it does,” he answered, bouncing his fist off the table with another chuckle. “Hey—you get around more than you think.”

Maybe Seungcheol’s words were supposed to be uplifting, or rewarding to hear, but Wonwoo felt his stomach drop and a horrible, papery dryness spread throughout his mouth. He absolutely hated the thought of people talking about him, discussing him, perceiving him.

“Oh, yeah! Shit, I’ve been meaning to ask—” Seungcheol brightened and shuffled further up in his seat, “—Mingyu says you speak Korean? Were you born there, or from your parents, maybe?”

Wonwoo picked at his thumb slightly.

“Uh, yeah, I do. I was born there.”

“Same. Daegu.”

“Changwon.”

Seungcheol smiled, and when he switched so fluidly from his English to Korean, Wonwoo needed a moment to comprehend the different syllables and speech patterns hitting his ear. It was almost like a glitch, but it was infinitesimal, and Wonwoo processed it quick.

“Mingyu didn’t know where you were born. He just said he’d spoken Korean with you. It’s nice to hear, right?”

“It is. My parents still live in Changwon. Though their English is limited so I hardly ever use it with them.”

Nodding his head in understanding, Seungcheol then propped a leg onto his knee and began to grin. “It’s the same for me. I don’t know if Mingyu’s told you—he wasn’t born there but his parents spoke it around him growing up.”

“I’ve heard…”

“So Seokmin says you like to write?”

“Yes. Reading and writing.”

“I’m not much of a writer. I used to love reading. I still do, actually. But it’s difficult to make time for it.”

Wonwoo agreed. He would have never pegged Seungcheol as someone who enjoyed reading, mostly due to his reputation and his plethora of outlandish, jock friends, though he was pleasantly surprised to hear it.

“I haven’t been reading much myself. Or writing. I’m in a burnout, I suppose.” A sigh fell defeatedly from Wonwoo’s mouth. “It’s frustrating. What kind of books did you read?”

“Nothing unique. Lord of the Rings. I went through a period of really liking Goosebumps, too.” He  then bit his inner cheek in contemplation as he thought harder about his catalogue. “The weirdest book I remember reading was Walking Practice by Dolki Min. It gave me nightmares.”

“I’ve heard lots of mixed opinions about it.”

“It’s a book you read once, somehow manage to enjoy, but know you’ll never revisit… hm, it’s got me thinking…” Seungcheol was suddenly leaning forward, an arm dangling off the table as his forehead wrinkled with effort at placing a certain memory. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you used to date that girl who worked at the university library? I think her name was… shit—” he snapped his fingers a few times, bit down hard on his rosy lip while his dark brow furrowed, “—Jeanie? I believe that’s it. She always wore a little pin on her pullovers. Didn’t really talk much. At least not to me. She was shy but seemed sweet.”

For a second, Wonwoo thought he misheard Seungcheol—that the music from the speaker system was blaring much too loud and he somehow misinterpreted a word or sentence. He even dug into his ear for a second, sat up in his chair instead of casually leaning backward.

“What?”

Wonwoo hadn’t even realized he’d dropped his Korean.

“Oh, I was asking about that girl you used to date. It was Jeanie, right? She worked at the university library.” When Wonwoo kept staring at him without so much as a sound, blink, or even a tiny twitch, Seungcheol waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Fuck, my bad. I’m probably confusing you with someone else.”

“No... you’re not.”

It had felt like a gunshot—realizing the specific pronunciation and shaping of Seungcheol’s lips hadn’t been misinterpreted at all. He was in fact saying what Wonwoo dreaded, feared, like the ghost stories from his childhood that his brother would utter through a white, dying flashlight until Wonwoo uncontrollably wept. Like the last step at his parents’ house he used to constantly miss, his heart practically jamming into his throat each and every time. It was that slow, nauseating accumulation of anxiety in his stomach, coming to buzz and rumble akin to a beehive. It was all those stupid mistakes.

Jeanie. To hear her name in another person’s mouth was almost sickening. To think about her again was pure heartache.

“That’s what I figured,” Seungcheol said. “She was nice, but I don’t think she came back in the fall… I don’t want to assume anything. Just a memory.” He reeled back on the topic as Wonwoo sat adjacent to him, paler than an alabaster pearl.

“Yeah…” he managed to croak out, feeling a rasp develop somewhere deep in his throat, “we’re not together anymore.”

“Hey, it is what it is,” Seungcheol affirmed, putting on a sincere smile that Wonwoo found a pinch of solace in. “We don’t have to fuckin’ mull over it or anything. All that shit’s in the past, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. You’re here now, amongst friends, I hope.”

Wonwoo swallowed, thinking about what Seungcheol said.

He then shifted his head toward the billiard ball table. Vernon was now involved in a very passionate conversation with Mingyu that Wonwoo was unable to hear from his distance. The two boys were bouncing back and forth, animated in their hand motions and expressions, meanwhile you and Princess were passing the most subtly judgmental looks between each other. For a moment, Wonwoo’s gaze caught your own, to which you shot him an innocuous eye roll paired with a small but tenderly growing smile. That thick uneasiness in his chest pulled back like a receding ocean tide and Wonwoo knew he was okay again.

Seungcheol took note of the glance, and he grinned.

“It seems you’re pretty close with Her.”

Turning his attention back to Seungcheol, Wonwoo nodded.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. She’s… um…”

“Hard to describe, isn’t she?” Seungcheol answered for him, now observing the scene at the billiard ball table as well.

Wonwoo almost hesitated asking his next question, but before his brain could make much sense of it, he was already speaking.

“Does Mingyu always do that?”

Seungcheol chuckled, “do what?”

“He’s on her like a fucking sticker.”

Undoubtedly, his heart sank in at the predictable answer.

“Yeah, Gyu’s always got his eye on her. I understand where he’s coming from. She attracts a lot of attention. He straight up socked this dude in the face last year for hitting on her. I mean, to be fair, he was drunk and Her can tend to be a little… well, she likes to push his buttons. It was high tension all night. Bound to explode.”

Remembering his meal at Solar Pop with Vernon a few weeks ago, Wonwoo knew how anxious his friend had been at the thought of getting ungracefully decked in the face by Mingyu’s knuckles. While it never happened—and Wonwoo was certain then that it wouldn’t—he would hate to be on the receiving end of whatever power Mingyu did pack behind a serious punch. Wonwoo despised fighting and conflict. There was often a cutting, wolfish nature wading about Mingyu’s dark gold eyes that quite frankly petrified him enough.

Considering how fearful Vernon had seemed, Wonwoo was surprised the boy was even talking with Mingyu so freely. But that forgiving, never-take-anything-too-seriously gene was just embedded straight into Vernon’s core. He could get along with anybody.

“Hm,” was all Wonwoo hummed in response.

Since he had been laser-focused analyzing the cordial, humorous conversation between Vernon and Mingyu, he failed to note that Princess had joined her boyfriend at the table. Upon turning his head out of worry he might be caught staring, Wonwoo finally saw the beautiful girl leaning against Seungcheol’s back from behind; her arms draped comfortably around his neck and her cheek pressed to his midnight black hair. Wonwoo flashed an awkward half-smile.

“You guys getting to know each other?” She asked.

Seungcheol exchanged an agreeing glance with Wonwoo.

“Mmhm. We’re basically two peas in a pod now,” the boy proceeded to joke while Princess grinned down at him, her eyes gleaming. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool. One smart cookie, y’know?”

“Wow. Smarter than you, yeah?” She laughed, now straightening up and resting just a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, can’t be a winner in everything.”

“Oh. Maybe you can’t.”

“Shit—watch yourself, missy.”

Seungcheol quickly twisted around in his chair, managing to catch Princess by the waist and playfully wrestle her onto his lap. She hardly fought in retaliation against him, a huge, warm smile glowing from her face as she let herself get wrapped in his squeezing arms.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he wanted to throw up. It’s not that he was some spiteful, self-loathing recluse who couldn’t stand seeing others in healthy relationships—it wasn’t that at all. What he despised was the loneliness it reflected unto himself, and the deeply unsettling thought that he was just too damaged, insecure, and unlovable to ever truly warrant the pure trust of another. He feared he could never bring his inner self to fruitfully open in such vulnerable ways.

“Hey, Wonwoo. I just noticed your cup’s empty.”

When he connected with the earnest gaze of Princess, he realized she was pointing at the red cup left untouched by his elbow.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Do you want a beer? Or a chaser?” She offered in a polite tone as Seungcheol gently moved her long braids aside to drape over her far shoulder. “We have lots of stuff in the fridge over there.”

He bit into his lip, thinking.

“Doesn’t have to be a drink,” Seungcheol said, shrugging. “If you smoke, I’ve got some stuff already crushed up. Uh, I’ve got a bong around here somewhere. I think it’s on the shelf. Rolling papers, too. Don’t know how you prefer to smoke it.”

“Papers, usually,” Wonwoo answered.

“Cool. I’ve got that.”

With two soft, careful hands gliding up her waist, Seungcheol sweetly urged Princess to her feet and then pitched an announcement that anyone interested in smoking could come to the table.

Princess swiped the blue bong from Seungcheol’s shelf.

“I’m going for a bowl,” she said, clicking her tongue.

“Ou, me too!” Clara chirped, using Bells’ arm to help shove herself off the sofa, ignoring the way her friend whined.

“I’ll come sit with you guys,” Princess added, “just make a little room. And try not to throw up on me if you can help it.”

Wonwoo was in the midst of being accompanied at the table, with Vernon dragging out the chair to his left while Mingyu occupied the seat across from him. He watched the boy’s arm stretch out to accommodate you onto his lap, and Wonwoo assumed the hand he couldn’t see was groping your thigh underneath the table. In the pit of his stomach, Wonwoo knew what that slimy, bitter feeling was, though he refused to acknowledge it—he wouldn’t even look at you.

Seungcheol tossed a ziplock bag filled with weed onto the table and spread out an array of thin, dull, white rectangular papers.

Immediately, Vernon was tugging on Wonwoo’s sleeve.

“Can you roll mine, dude?”

“Hm?” Mingyu grunted, seeming amused. “You’re asking Wonwoo to roll your joint? You're a fucking drug dealer.”

“I’ve never met anyone who can roll as good as him,” his friend complimented, leaning back in the wooden chair and firmly shaking Wonwoo’s shoulder. “If he’s in the room, I’m gettin’ him to roll. He’s got nice, talented, dexterous fingers. Isn’t that right?”

Reaching for a translucent paper and smoothing out the crinkles, a suspect arch made its way to Wonwoo’s brow, meanwhile the tips of his ears burned with all the eyeballs examining his every fucking move. Wonwoo opened the baggie, beginning to shake out the pre-grinded bud as he held the paper in a curled shape.

“Please don’t talk about my fingers like that,” he muttered, pushing up his glasses. “Check that. You want a little more or less?”

“Nah, leave it at that,” Vernon answered.

Brushing a hand through his hair, Seungcheol then crossed his arms, smirking. “I wanna see it when you’re done rolling.”

“Me too,” Mingyu agreed, staring Wonwoo down like a hawk.

“Great. Why don’t we pass the joint around the table when he’s done with it, and we can all grade it. How fun,” you mumbled sarcastically, slumping forward and resting your chin against a palm.

“You gonna smoke or not, sweetheart?” Mingyu asked.

“I don’t know yet…”

Wonwoo knew you were staring at him while he fiddled with removing a crease in the partially rolled paper, because there was an itch crawling along him, like a sunburn, but not quite. Though, he opted to continue focusing on the joint, even with your eyes breathing him in from across the table, craving his acknowledgement.

“Lick there,” he instructed, holding the paper for Vernon.

From the couch, Wonwoo heard a bubbly laugh. It was Bells, her legs kicked up onto Princess’ lap without a care in the world while Princess sparked a lighter to help Clara ignite the sapphire bowl.

“Wonwoo, if you make one for me, can you lick it?”

He simply ignored her while carefully tucking at the joint.

Wonwoo turned to Vernon again. “Lick.”

After some finely tuned adjustments that required his utmost focus, Wonwoo was at last satisfied with the roll, then handing the joint off to Vernon for him to further pack and twist up. Once his friend finished the job, he passed the joint back to Wonwoo, who further gave it down to Seungcheol. The boy glanced over it closely.

“Damn… that’s pretty fuckin’ good, can’t lie.”

“Let me see," Mingyu practically demanded, granting Seungcheol the slimmest opportunity to even pass the joint along.

He’d snatched it up and settled back in his seat—nearly sliding you straight off his lap in the process—squinting to find some stupid imperfection or mistake he could point out, though, there was nothing. Without a word, he passed the smoke to Vernon.

“See? Told ‘ya. Glasses never fails me.”

“If you don’t mind—” Seungcheol rubbed at his bottom lip, staring at Wonwoo with a quirked eyebrow, “—could I get one?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Mingyu won’t say it but you should roll one for him, too.”

As Wonwoo pulled another paper toward him, he managed to look at you, and the little spark that jumped into your pretty eye. He smiled because you were smiling, and that always made him feel so inexplicably warm inside, like the soft melting of browned caramel.

“I can do that,” he said, to which Mingyu nodded his head.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll roll one for you, too, Her. I mean, if you want it.”

“Okay. That’s sweet. Maybe later.”

You smiled at him again.

He smiled back.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure how it happened or who initially decided the idea, but someone had suggested poker, and now the entire table was cleared off with the exception of Seungcheol’s playing cards and the multi-coloured chip stacks. They decided on classic Texas Hold’em because everyone who’d decided to join was most familiar with the style, though Wonwoo cared to dabble more in Blackjack as there was a mathematical basis to it that scratched a satisfying itch in his brain. Nonetheless, he was fairly good at Texas Hold’em, too.

Vernon hated playing with him, and he made that extremely apparent through his moaning while Princess shuffled the card deck. There was a decent number of people playing—only you, Clara, and Bells chose to sit on the sidelines and observe. Wonwoo had wanted you to play, but you kept declining, even without a concrete reason.

“Okay, everyone’s familiar with the rules, right?” Princess asked for clarification, at first burning the top card off the deck. “I’ll play dealer first round. That makes Seungcheol the small blind and Wonwoo the big blind. N'remember, you guys signed up for this, so if you can't afford to blow some money then you better be good.”

Everyone collectively agreed, and Princess began dealing the cards to all contenders until there was two before each person. Wonwoo wasn't exactly in the best position to be owing people cash, but he was a pretty solid player in his experience, though he was most comfortable going against Vernon and Seokmin. They had done a few poker nights at the random houses Vernon always claimed he was looking after for a friend. He had no idea what Seungcheol or Mingyu would be like as players. It did scare him a little.

Seungcheol made his move first—just a dollar, the equivalent of a single white-coloured chip. Wonwoo had to double the bet, so he moved out two white chips instead. Vernon decided to raise the amount to four chips, and Seokmin called the bet, matching it. Mingyu went next, his figure appearing foggy from across the table as the air became increasingly tinged with ruffles of smoke.

He called.

Seungcheol and Wonwoo both called at their turns, and thus, the first round of betting had ended. Everyone pushed forward their chips for Princess to collect, creating their small, measly looking pot.

Wonwoo kept the joint poised between his pointer and middle finger as he slyly gleaned the suit and ranks of his hand, keeping both cards flush against the table, just lifting their corners.

It didn’t seem like much and would probably result in little reward—an eight of clovers and a three of spades—but Wonwoo wasn’t looking to show out in the very first game, anyway.

He glanced toward the couch, where you were squished almost shoulder to shoulder against Clara and Bells. The bong was sat in your lap as you leaned down over the mouthpiece and sparked at the cannabis packed into the bowl. Bells curled at her long, black hair, heels dug into the edge of the coffee table, eyes glazed as pastries.

“I didn’t get anything from that,” she mumbled.

“That’s ‘cause you don’t know how to play,” Princess chuckled, again burning another card off the deck before setting down three more at the centre of the table, creating the flop.

Nine of diamonds, seven of hearts, and six of clovers.

Everyone took a minute to examine the flop, comparing it with the cards they had stowed close to their chests. Wonwoo, however, didn’t even bother comparing, as he already knew his move.

“Hm…” Seungcheol paused, rubbing at his chin and sucking in his bottom lip. “I think I’ll check.” He then leaned back, placing forth no bet at all, and instead looked to Wonwoo for his decision.

“Fold.”

“Ha!” Vernon practically choked beside him, the joint almost spat from his mouth, and Wonwoo felt the boy’s hand push in a teasing pressure at his shoulder. “You’re such a piece of shit, man.”

“Why is he a piece of shit?” Bells wondered.

“Just, uh—ah, never mind,” Vernon capitulated, still somewhat chuckling under his breath as Wonwoo smiled at him. “I’m gonna bet. I’ll put out some of these.” He slid out the required chips, forest-green in colour, each valued at twenty-five dollars.

Nibbling on his fingertip, Seokmin shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m folding.”

Princess smiled. “No, it’s okay! Mingyu next.”

“Hm, call,” he responded, matching Vernon's dare.

The attention returned to Seungcheol, who was rooted in his indecisiveness, pressed fingers masking half his face as he stared down at the three community cards, brow furrowed with thought.

Eventually, he shrugged. “Fuck it. I’m folding too.”

“Not feeling lucky, babe?” Princess grinned, collecting the bets placed by Vernon and Mingyu to the growing pot.

“I’m treading cautiously, let’s just say that.” He smirked.

After revealing the fourth community card, another round ensued between Vernon and Mingyu. Wonwoo relaxed back into his seat, an analyzing eye shifting from his tattooed, face-pierced friend to the stoic and collected Mingyu who was awaiting Vernon’s turn.

Wonwoo held his bottom lip between sharp teeth, then staring down at his lap in an attempt to smother that prying, wide smile, knowing the exact move his friend would make. It was Vernon, after all. And he always played big, even when he shouldn’t.

“Bet. Here you go.”

More of those green chips were moved out.

Mingyu huffed, tongue curling against his pronounced canine. “I don’t believe you, dude.”

Vernon cackled, propping up his knee and setting the heel of his sneaker onto the chair. He exhaled a smooth hit from his joint.

“Okay. Raise, then.”

Seungcheol chuckled, sharing a laugh with Seokmin who was sipping at a beer bottle from across the table.

“Fine—have it your way.”

"I’ll call.”

“Not feeling so confident, yeah?” Mingyu proceeded to laugh, eyeing Vernon closely with a testing, intrigued expression.

“I’ll let the showdown speak for itself,” Vernon pitted back.

Again, Princess collected their chips and rid the deck of its top card, and then placed down the fifth and final community card, establishing the river and the arrangement from which Vernon and Mingyu would need to create the most powerful hand. Each boy at last turned over their deck, and it was clear cut who was the winner.

“Mingyu’s got a full house,” Princess explained, standing up and leaning forward to swivel the card combination into place. “Take these three from the river, plus his nine of hearts and seven of clovers—that’s a three of a kind and a pair. Vernon can at most make a straight.” She then sat back down, pushing the entire pot to Mingyu.

“Did you win, baby?” After remaining silent for the entire game, you had finally perked up from the couch, admittedly buzzed.

Brushing back his hair, he smirked. “I won. Mr. Drug Dealer owes me about three-hundred dollars. But I guess you've just got that laying around somewhere? Stuffed up your pillow case?”

Vernon laughed, then took a deep, long drag from his joint. "If you're not sleepin' against a pillow case full of cash, I'm happy to officially give you the opportunity. Takes away all your stress."

“Congratulations,” you flashed a hazy smile at your boyfriend, courtesy of the smoke wafting through the air, like you were caught in a reverie, “I'm glad all those Sundays were well spent.”

“Okay, we’ll move down now,” Princess announced, reorganizing the cards into a deck. “Seungcheol’s the dealer, Wonwoo is the small blind, and Vernon’s the big blind this time.”

They continued to play until everyone at the table had a chance at being the blinds and the dealer. Wonwoo folded every round. He knew it might've been ignorant and distrustful, but to him, it was the perfect opportunity to see inside everyone's bag of tricks.

He’d developed a fairly foolproof inkling toward their tactics and gives. Seokmin was by far the easiest player to make fold, though Wonwoo was already well aware—he would only hold his ground if there was confidence in his hand, but even then, anyone else calling Seokmin’s bet always engendered him to squirm. And while Vernon was still a more seasoned player by comparison, his brashness and tentative nature toward folding was often his downfall.

Seungcheol and Princess were a bit harder to read.

They were alike in their more cautious, calculating style of play, and Princess clearly had experience with orchestrating poker matches. Seungcheol, however, would routinely make the same mistake that Wonwoo had noticed straight away—touching or covering his face. When he was most confident, his fingers would sit more around his chin, or jaw, and when he was dealt a shitty hand with little to no promise of creating something notable from the community cards, those fingers etched further toward his lips.

You had still refused to join the match when offered by Princess, though you were paying greater attention to the game—even stopping by to hover with interest at Mingyu’s shoulder.

Princess was back to being the dealer.

Seungcheol was again the small blind. “I’ll put up twenty.”

Wonwoo grabbed two stacks of his chips and slid them outward to double the boy’s forced bet. “Forty.”

Everyone called.

Since the pot had gone unraised, Wonwoo decided to push forth more of his chips, adding on another twenty in small stacks. “Raise.”

The eagerness to increase the bet had drained. Again, all parties at the table simply called, and Wonwoo was feeling quite confident.

“Flop time,” Princess said with a smile, neatly setting out three cards at the table’s centre for everyone to glean.

Seungcheol checked. So did Wonwoo.

“Raise.” Vernon was persistent in his choice.

Everyone matched the increased bet, now sitting at eighty chips, until it fell upon Wonwoo’s turn. Expectant eyes were drilling holes into him like he was plywood at a construction site. Under normal circumstances, Wonwoo would abhor it more than anything else, but he was otherwise relaxed and in tune with his decisions as the joint smoke warmly fluttered around him. Coughing out a tickle from his throat, he grabbed another stack of his chips.

“It’s at eighty, so I’ll push to a hundred.”

“Cunt,” Vernon coughed, though he matched the raise without so much as a leg shake or a bite at his glinting lip ring.

“Fold,” Seokmin sighed, forfeiting his hand to Princess.

Wonwoo looked across the table, watching your fingertips squeeze into Mingyu’s thick shoulders as he pondered his choice.

“Call.” He eventually decided with a shrug.

Seungcheol agreed.

By the fifth community card, Wonwoo, Mingyu, Seungcheol, and Vernon were still engaged in the match. From his analysis, Wonwoo was sure he would take the pot. Seungcheol was rubbing just below his lip using a slow thumb—there was uncertainty and doubt in the gesture. Vernon’s willingness to raise was merely intended to pressure out the others, but it hadn’t worked, and his quietness suggested there might be regret, and still, confidence, that he could somehow get away with it. Finally, Wonwoo saw Mingyu.

He'd played a handful of poker—specifically Texas Hold’em—with Mingyu when they had taken that probability elective last year.

The thing was, Mingyu had this gold-plated guise of believing his casual, unbothered demeanour couldn’t be disrupted under any circumstance—that no one would catch that transient slip of credence in those molten brown eyes or note the way he cracked the wood in the chair from fidgeting when the silence was too heavy and all-encompassing. But Wonwoo would notice. He could see it clearer than glass. The more Mingyu disguised it, the easier it poured out.

“Alright, showdown. Let’s see your hands.”

Everyone flipped their cards.

A moment of silence ensued, and then—

“Fuck you, Wonwoo,” Vernon grunted, jabbing his side.

Both him and Seungcheol could make a straight flush, but since the rank of Wonwoo’s cards were higher, he took the win.

Not to mention the rather large, admirable pot. He was pretty pleased to see those colourful bills being forked out from the losers' wallets. It truly did pay off to play with rich people, and Mingyu and Seungcheol's pockets seemed endless.

By Wonwoo's third joint of the night, he’d won more rounds than anyone sitting at the table. Vernon had cursed at him a fair amount, Seokmin hardly wanted to play anymore amongst the serious tycoons that surrounded him, and wallets were running drier than any desert. The effects of all that smoke wafting through the air and meddling with his senses was starting to take effect.

He could potentially last another round before his most concrete thinking would get whittled down to thoughtless guesses.

Before the final round had started, Wonwoo glanced down at his phone to check the time. Holy shit—one in the morning. He’d been at the party for almost three fucking hours and he was miraculously still functioning and somehow not crawling with the desperation to leave. You were seated back at the couch, head leaning on Clara’s shoulder as you waited, misty-eyed, for the final game to start. Wonwoo decided to text you even though you were sitting no less than five feet away.

[ Wonwoo | 1:02 am ]: Play the final round.

He watched as you picked up the phone from your lap to read the text message, and then, you were squinting at him in judgement.

[ Her | 1:02 am ]: um no

His thumbs fired back a response.

[ Wonwoo | 1:02 am ]: Why?

[ Her | 1:02 am ]: bc I don’t want to

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: You don’t know how to play?

[ Her | 1:03 am ]: ik how to play

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: So play.

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: Take Seokmin’s place.

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: Please? Should I beg for it?

Your scoff could be heard from the couch, and Wonwoo had to remind himself to steam out the smile twitching on his lips.

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: is it really that important to u?

[ Wonwoo | 1:04 am ]: Yes.

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: fine

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: just don’t come crying to me when u lose

Feeling especially triumphant that he was able to convince you, Wonwoo observed with a pleased smirk your quest to Seokmin’s place at the table, where you tapped his shoulder and told him to take five. The boy didn’t need to be told twice, allowing you his seat almost gratefully.

“Awe, you’re not gonna stay for the finale?” Princess asked in a crooning voice while shuffling the card deck between her hands.

Seokmin grabbed his skinny bottle of beer off the table and shook his head, his face glowing and his eyes beginning to hood.

“I’ve learned my lesson about this game: I’m not good at it, I don’t have the money, and that I should never play with Wonwoo.”

“Or me?” Vernon gestured, turning out a palm expectantly.

“Uh, right. And Vernon.”

Picking a fluff from Seokmin’s shirt and flicking it into the air, you merely shrugged, flashing him a comforting smile.

“Y’know, it’s a good thing you suck,” you said, then leaning back in the chair and folding your arms. “It means you’re a bad liar.”

“Nice to play with you, alright?” Seungcheol added, grabbing onto the boy’s hand and giving it a firm clasp as he walked by.

“Thanks. I think I’ll go back downstairs and see if I can find more people I know. Enjoy the game, guys! Tell me who wins!”

“Probably me,” you answered, waving him goodbye.

“Hm, I didn’t think you’d play at all,” Mingyu remarked while Princess began sorting out cards to everyone, and Wonwoo noted the boy's leg jostling underneath the table. “Feeling confident, are you?”

Poking out your tongue playfully at Mingyu, you smiled. “Yes. Don’t even think about trying to riddle me. I’ll see right through it.”

The game started out as usual. Seungcheol and Wonwoo offered the blind bets, and everyone at the table called. No one seemed keen to fold, even when Princess revealed the flop and his heart smacked in another resounding thump. An eight of spades, a king of spades, and an eight of clovers. Wonwoo then slipped his gaze around the table, particularly studying you, who hadn’t stopped grinning since the game started. Of course you would be grinning. There was nothing very coy or subtle about you upon any first glance.

Wonwoo discreetly lifted the corners to his playing cards. He caught the wind in his chest. There was an ace of spades, his very first all night, paired with a nine of spades. It took all his self-control to remain muted on the outside and let his joint continue burning.

At the fourth community card, the pressure was starting to seep through, and the intimidating, stacked size of the pot collected before Princess was only making the fold especially tempting.

Every time it seemed like a call was in order, someone would raise, and the bets kept climbing until the glass ceiling was at last hit.

Seungcheol brushed antsy hands down the back of his head, scattering his hair and puffing out his chest in a large, accepting sigh.

“I’ve gotta fold. There’s no way.”

Balancing a joint at the corner of his mouth, Wonwoo grabbed another stack from his chips and slid it outward, knowing there was little to no chance he would lose the round.

“Raise,” he announced, exhaling a deep breath.

“Oh my God,” Vernon mumbled into his palm, taking a moment to tap his fingers against the wood, “… I have to fold. Yeah, I’ve gotta. A smart man like myself knows when to quit. You got me. Fucker.”

Unphased by the hopeless, daunting feeling that swelled around the table, you merely crossed a leg and dared to not only match, but raise the amount of chips that Wonwoo had audaciously put forth. Mingyu was slumped in his chair with a musing expression, eyes stung red and the thick fronds of his hair messily strewn about from how often his fingers dug through them. He eventually cleared his throat from the hot prickle and shook his head in conviction.

“No, you’re lying. I don’t believe it.”

But you just smirked and fluttered your lashes.

“What’s your move then, babe?”

“I’ll check.” Mingyu shrugged, agitated by his own response.

And to that, Wonwoo poured more gasoline on the fire.

“Raise.”

“There is no fuckin’ way your cards are that good,” Vernon grumbled between half-sealed lips, attempting to hold the joint still with his mouth while he sparked the end using his lighter.

“I’m raising your raise,” you challenged, “one-hundred.”

As his hand fell onto the table with a loud rattle, Vernon started to cackle. “There’s no way your cards are that good, either.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You lilted.

“Mingyu?” Seungcheol hummed to get the boy’s attention. “It’s your move, man. What’re you gonna do?”

Wonwoo could see it scribbled all over Mingyu’s face. He didn’t want to get caught in the intense bidding flare between you, because he obviously knew his cards weren’t high enough rank to claim the pot at showdown. Wonwoo wasn’t planning to fold because the community cards were aligned in his favour. That steely, brash façade of the golden boy across from him was wearing increasingly thinner and Mingyu had seemed to realize it himself. After an almost agonizing silence, he pushed his cards away from him, forfeiting.

“Yeah, I can’t do it. Fuck you guys.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, sweetheart. That’s too bad, ” you giggled, leaning over to sling an arm around his shoulders and stipple his cheek in small kisses that Mingyu wriggled from.

“Alright, just fuckin’ get to the showdown already,” he tutted.

Wonwoo couldn’t have been happier that Mingyu removed himself from the game. It was solely between him and you, now.

“You raised to one-hundred?” He asked for clarification.

Nodding your head, you agreed. “Yes. One-hundred.”

The thing was, Wonwoo knew he was going to win. Even without Princess revealing the final community card, there was an opportunity for him to make a straight flush. Unless an unprecedented stroke of luck had fallen into your own hand and you could somehow make a royal flush, the game was already decided.

Unless Wonwoo folded.

“I’ll raise,” he answered, wanting to test your limits.

“Jesus, this is gonna take all fuckin’ night, isn’t it?” Vernon proceeded to groan while exercising his stiff shoulder.

You smiled, and a glint illuminated in your eyes like a fallen star the size of a perfect sand grain.

 “Should I make it more interesting?”

Uncrossing your leg, you sat up straight, pressing tight against the table as you braced an arm behind your remaining chips and shoved them forward slowly, right into the table’s centre. Everyone began to mumble excitedly at the brazen act, though Wonwoo could only focus on you and that mischievous but beautiful curve to your lips, ignoring everything else in the room.

“All in.”

He felt a fist lightly strike his chest.

“Glasses! You’ve gotta match that!”

Seungcheol was rubbing along his chin, grinning.

“That’s gonna make a huge pot… lotta money…”

“He’s been making moves all game,” Princess laughed. “Not that I’m pressuring you, Wonwoo. I mean, it’s your call.”

Mingyu shook his head. “She’s so bluffing.”

“Hush up so he can think!” Vernon cackled.

There was so much sound and noise and voices. But, through the cacophony and haze of all those distractions, Wonwoo could see into you so clearly it was like you had become magically transparent. In turn, you were staring at him, awaiting his response, and he felt those sharp eyes shearing at his fabricated thoughts, picking them all apart into little corners and strips and threads. It was impossibly subtle, and only Wonwoo caught it—your head just beginning to shake in disagreement.

However, Wonwoo had already made his decision.

“I’m folding.”

Vernon’s fists struck down on the table like a thunderous clap, and the tension nailed into the atmosphere suddenly burst.

Before Wonwoo could even make sense of the exploding conversation, his cards were pulled away from him by Princess. She flipped over both yours and his hand.

“Wonwoo, you stupid fuck!” Vernon practically leapt from his chair, wriggling at the boy’s shoulder. “That’s a straight fl—oh my god! I’m actually so—you could have easily won that!”

“Okay, okay. She’s got a straight flush, too!” Princess called, pointing down at your cards. “But Wonwoo’s rank is higher.”

“Doesn’t matter, anyway,” Mingyu said, pushing back in his chair and stretching out his muscular arms. “He folded. Her wins.”

Seungcheol sifted through the colourful chips.

“Looks like he owes you about five-hundred bucks.”

Continuing to smile at you, Wonwoo picked the joint back between his lips, borrowing Vernon’s lighter to fizzle the end and keep the paper burning. Your arms were crossed, hardly pleased.

“Looks like I do.” Wonwoo accepted through a wispy exhale of smoke, rolling out his shoulders and further quirking his lips.

After the final poker match, everyone decided to disseminate and take about half an hour to excuse themselves. Mingyu went back downstairs with Seungcheol so they could keep an eye on the general rowdiness, making sure people hadn’t started rioting or smashing vases, swinging from chandeliers and drinking questionable concoctions out of high-heeled boots.

Vernon wandered off in search for a washroom since Princess had occupied the nearest one down the staircase, at first helping nurse Clara through her incoming bout of alcohol sickness, with Bells joining them a few minutes afterward when that last sip decided to lurch back up her throat.

Only you and Wonwoo remained in the attic.

He was sat widespread at the sofa, slumped down, eyes closed, attempting to appreciate the high that could be attributed to the third joint he was now halfway through smoking. But then he felt the cushion beside him dip, and there was a pinch sinking rather harshly into the flesh on his hand that made his eyes fling back open.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Wonwoo moaned, rubbing over the small, crescent shaped branding dug by your fingernail.

Settling down notably close to Wonwoo, your knee prodded into his thigh while your one leg folded over the other. That scowl had yet to be ironed out from your countenance, and he could only suspect you were about to come down hard in regards to his stunt.

“Boo hoo. You’re such a lying liar who lies.”

Wonwoo stretched out a hand to his face, massaging slow against his temples while he sighed, “lying’s part of the game...”

“No—” the retort shot out with an electrifying quickness, “—not your type of lying. Your double-crossed lying. You’re a fraud.”

“A fraud?” He echoed, letting the hand fall into his lap. “Okay, that’s a bit accusatory. I wouldn’t call what I did fraudulent.”

Shifting his elbow off the arm of the couch, the joint was poised back at his lips, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but chuckle at your glaring, stiff face. He swiftly blew out his hit, smirking hard.

“I hate you for what you did. I mean, you should have gone all in and matched me. But, no! You took the wuss route and made me look stupid! It taints everything. And you better wipe away that jovial curl in your lip before I sock it off your face and steal your cig.”

Wonwoo tilted his head at you, perking an eyebrow.

“How’d you know my cards were better?”

At first, the question visibly stumped you. There was a lag in your response—an open mouth but not a single word to follow.

Then, it seemed as though you breathed out all your rage.

“Don’t ask such a dumb question,” sounded your calm sigh, with a leg bobbing up and down, “you made it so obvious.”

“I did? Hm.”

“Yeah…I know your tactic. You make everyone feel and nice and comfortable playing with you. Then, you totally flip the script and pull out the rug.” Your shoulder was digging into his and you two were now squished together so closely that he could feel your radiating warmth and smell the fragrance in your hair. “For someone who’s so damn quiet, your eyes are like a book. They just swim and trash with everything you’re thinking. So, don’t think you’re all that.”

Wonwoo switched the joint to his other hand, instead leaning against his fist and peering aside at you who seemed so certain of everything. Admittedly, he’d never heard that before, and if he weren’t beyond drowned in the watery red glowing behind his hooded gaze, your spiel would have downright terrified him.

It wasn’t that you just knew Wonwoo, it was that you were beginning to understand him and the way his mind operated.

No—if he were sober, that thought would obliterate him.

He shrugged. “I don’t think I’m all that.”

“Blah, blah. Y’know, the one thing about you that bothers me—you’re actually not a loser. People like you Wonwoo. People are impressed by you. They want to know you. And you just keep them at bay with your stinging hot fireplace poker, jabbing at them in case they get too close. I see it. And—I don’t know, maybe you’re right to keep all those people out. Maybe it gives you more control.”

Wonwoo dragged a hand along his face, laughing. “I think I’m a little too high to be having that conversation with you.”

“No, you’re not. You just don’t want to talk about it as usual. I don't suppose you've got five-hundred big ones in your wallet, do you?”

He shot you an obvious glance while chuckling, "absolutely fucking not. But sit tight, though. I can get it to you somehow."

Your head shook. "I don't care about the money."

He stared down at the joint aglow in his hand.

And then he was holding it out in front of you.

“Hit?”

You hesitated, but ultimately grabbed it, positioning the joint between your index and middle finger akin to a cigarette. Wonwoo watched intently at the soft inhale you breathed in, and the gradual relaxing of your chest as the smoke was gently puffed outward.

“Not so tough, is it?” He hummed in his deep, velvet-smooth voice, to which you squinted at him and scrunched your nose.

“I just studied how you did it, that’s all.”

Your knee was now pressed atop his lap. Wonwoo felt that momentary, passionate itch to settle his palm flat against your warm skin—ignore all boundaries that existed between you as well as their scalding consequences just for the sake of sweetly touching you, the one visible hope in his life. Still, Wonwoo was too afraid. As much as he wanted all your light and love to himself, it could never be true.

“We’re doing lines next,” you said, “… are you gonna do it?”

“Oh, no.” Wonwoo shook his head. “I tried it once and it went fucking terribly. I’m not gonna bother messing with it again.”

You looked relieved.

“That’s good. It’s so weird for me. Like, when it first enters my system, everything feels strange and I get this spinning, nauseating sensation. But it always passes. And then I let everything go.”

Wonwoo quirked at you a barely-there smile.

“I know it’s obvious—just be careful, alright?”

You puffed out another hit.

“I will.”

It was a bit strange—to just stand there, off to the side, as an observer of someone who was lining up a perfect streak of white powder using their credit card. And yet, that’s what Wonwoo had found himself doing, staring without much shame as you, Mingyu, Vernon, and Seungcheol began pressing shut one nostril and inhaling the cocaine through the other. Wonwoo never bothered to ask Vernon how he acquired the coke, or what he paid for it, or how he even knew someone that could baggie it up for him so nicely—Wonwoo didn’t ask anything of the sort because he’d rather avoid prison.

Though, that might be inevitable in the bigger picture. His closest friend was a drug dealer. By nature, he was already associated.

Princess had walked over to him, dropping off some bottled water from the fridge that he immediately uncapped and gulped down. It seemed his efforts to mend that broken circadian rhythm of his had done some actual good, because Wonwoo was feeling the tire spread over his eyes and the energy deplete from his body like an inflatable with an air leak. You had snorted the coke almost a little too naturally. He remembered an old conversation with Vernon—she takes that shit like it’s pixie dust—and he supposed it made sense.

He helped Princess shove the window open again to let some freshness back into the warm attic space. She spent a moment or so staring down at the driveway, watching the people come and go.

“How are Bells and Clara?” Wonwoo asked.

She glanced at him, though her brown eyes eventually wandered back to the ongoing buzz outside and below.

“Clara is totalled,” Princess sighed. “She’s lying down in one of the spare bedrooms. A friend is looking after her. Bells on the other hand...” she glimpsed over her shoulder, scanning the room, “I’m not sure where she went. I thought she came back upstairs, but it’s likely she wandered down to the living room. That girl is all gas, no breaks. Throws up one second, back to sloshing the next.”

Wonwoo swallowed more of his cold water.

“I take it Seungcheol owes you a dinner?”

“Ha—yeah, he owes it to me big time,” she muttered, at last turning her back to the breeze. “Good thing I didn’t let him drink that fucking whiskey. Holy shit. It would be worse than Clara.”

“Hm…” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly wondering aloud as he watched you cough into your fist at the table while Mingyu rubbed his nose and patted your cheek. “He doesn’t do it all the time, though?”

Princess folded her arms and smiled.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“She?”

“Her.”

“Oh. I was asking—”

“I know what you were asking. You don’t have to hide it.”

Wonwoo thought about further countering Princess’ assumption, but the way she was watching him—head knowingly tilted with that smitten crook so rightfully framed on her glossed, shiny lips—he knew it would be futile to even try. He felt relief at the confirmation, too. As long as you were careful. Really fucking careful.

“Sorry,” he answered, shrugging.

“Nah, apology not needed.” Princess shook her head.

The girl proceeded to look down at her feet, remaining silent and pensive—toying with the idea of saying something important but ultimately weighing its consequence before involving Wonwoo.

He was sipping from his water again when Princess at last cleared her throat, then holding the swig between his cheeks.

“Um, I don’t know, exactly, what it is you and Her talk about, or what you write about, or what you two do, ever. Just, uh, whatever it is—and maybe it’s best I don’t know—she’s really… happy. Not that she wasn’t happy before. But… it’s different, y’know? The energy is different. And I see this really, really beautiful light in her that I’ve never seen before. So, yeah. I’m glad you two are friends. And that you listen to her and stick by her and help her with this new craft even when she’s not the most cooperative, or… well… y’know… it’s Her after all. You don’t really know which version you’ll get.”

Wonwoo still hadn’t swallowed. The water was becoming uncomfortably lukewarm in his mouth but he held it there.

Princess dusted off her shirt, smiling again. “Anyway, I’ll go check on Seungcheol. Probably try to find Bells. Ah, later.”

Only when the girl had left him alone at the windowsill did he finally choke down that large sip, bracing through it as though he’d just downed some especially bitter cough syrup. His mind was replaying pieces of Princess’ speech in addition to that appreciative, even admirable look she had been giving him. He didn’t know what to take from it. He didn’t even know what he was feeling. All his emotions were cooking in one big heap at the pit of his gut like a disproportioned stew. Wonwoo rubbed a hand along his face in partial confusion and agony, hearing a giggle from you somewhere across the room, as he attempted to sort everything out.

Wanting to move somewhere a bit quieter, Wonwoo thought he might try his luck with the rooms down the staircase, and hopefully not waltz into anything he so clearly shouldn’t have. Yet, just as his hand ghosted along the wood railing, Wonwoo was suddenly colliding with someone and the rapidly permeating, muddled scent of daisies, cannabis, and fireball was filling his nose.

His water bottle dropped to the floor and rolled to the base of the stairs. Fingers scraped deep into his shirt. He grabbed onto the person’s waist with instinct, helping to steady them.

“Fuck—holy shit. Thanks, Wonwoo.”

But then the realization had metaphorically slapped him.

“My bad. Sorry.”

It was Bells who’d been stumbling up the stairs and plowed straight into his chest. She didn’t seem the most present, either.

“No, no, no. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

The last thing he wanted on planet Earth was to get sucked into a conversation with her—not that he had any sort of grudge or concrete reason to dislike the girl—but his head was starting to ache and he craved peace and quiet for just five fucking minutes.

Her fingers were still wound into his shirt, almost holding him there, against the banister of the stairs, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but stare straight into her intensely dilated eyes that studied him like a shark.

“Uh, all good...”

Wonwoo honestly wanted to grab the girl by her shoulders and physically set her aside. At the same time, he didn’t think it was the best protocol to act so uncouth with one of your close friends.

“Oh, sorry!” It seemed to dawn on her that she was pinning him against the handrailing. “I just didn’t want to fall.”

She at last loosened her fingers, though Wonwoo noted how she somewhat dragged her hands along his chest in the process of doing so, like that girl had done earlier to Vernon. It was unnecessary, but she was drunk, and Wonwoo thought he could end the conversation quicker if he remained pleasant. Stood at the top of the stairs, Wonwoo smiled at her, knowing how exhausted he was inside.

“I hope you’re feeling okay.”

Bells smiled, swaying her shoulders, “I’ve never felt better.”

“… Are you… sure about that?”

“Mmhm.”

“Do you need water or anything?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Uh, alright, cool. Well, I’m gonna go—”

“Wonwoo, wait.” She latched onto his arm, fast and sharp.

He paused, not so much because of her grip but mostly from shock, as she had suddenly moved in closer and he could now feel her strength squeezing against his bicep. She batted her eyelashes up at him demurely, and there was nothing he stomached but discomfort.

“What are you doing after this?” The girl hummed, lowering her voice and intentionally smoothing it to add a sultry effect.

Dry swallowing, he debated whether or not he should even respond and instead simply peel her unwanted hand off his arm.

“… Going to bed?” He croaked, shifting in his place.

“Would you want to do something with me?” She bit her lip. “My apartment’s in South Elm. Have you ever been there?”

“It’s not a good idea.” Wonwoo was losing his patience.

“Awe, not a good idea? Why’s that?” She giggled, slowly massaging her hand down the length of his bicep and nibbling on her inner cheek. “We can do anything you want at my place… I live alone… so, I’m up for it. Anything at all.”

“Okay, uh, look. I don’t want to be—”

All of a sudden, Bells was ripped from Wonwoo like a sticky bandage, and while he was more than confused at the situation, he was nonetheless relieved. He assumed it was Princess who’d done the deed, and thus Wonwoo was very surprised to learn that it had been you—you, who did not appear happy in the slightest, and his relief was starting to transform into thick concern because it seemed as though you were going to ricochet Bells head off the banister.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You shouted, shoving a belittling hand against Bells' shoulder and tugging her away. “Why are you fucking cornering him like that?!”

“Uh—what? Cornering him? Her, I’m so confused.”

“Confused? About what, Bells? You’re fucking harassing him! Like, why are you in his face and putting your hands on him?!”

“Woah, woah, woah. What’s your fucking problem? I wasn’t in his face; I’m talking to him. Just talking. You’re jumped up again.”

“Jumped up?! You're one to talk!”

Wonwoo at first tried to intervene, mostly out of serious worry for Bells safety, because you were steaming. However, every time he attempted to speak up, his words would drown out in the echo of your squabbling. It didn’t help that you two were both mentally degraded in your own right—all that anger was shooting straight from your chest to your mouth with no thought involved.

“Just leave him alone!” You jabbed a finger at her chest.

Bells slapped your hand away. “Don’t touch me!”

“Oh, why? Does it make you uncomfortable, having someone in your fucking face, touching you without permission? Does that make you upset, Bells? Hm, wow. So funny you would say that.”

Wonwoo settled a hand at your shoulder, tugging at you once, then twice, wanting to pull you back without being too forceful.

“It’s okay,” he assured, though his heart was pounding and he wished someone else would help or even take note of what was happening, “it’s not a big deal, alright? Nothing worth all this.”

Again, he was completely ignored.

“So, that’s it?” Bells laughed, throwing up her arms. “Only you can talk to him, and look at him, and breathe around him? That’s all you? No one else is allowed to like, have a conversation with him?!”

“You don’t want to have a conversation with him!” Your fists balled up tight as you screamed at her. “You want him to fuck you!”

“Okay, okay—!” Wonwoo jolted with panic when you pushed the drunken girl, immediately coiling his arms around your waist and lurching you backward before a flailing hand could strike Bells’ face.

Bells stumbled for no less than second until she regained her balance and looked to you with the most seething, nettled eyes.

The situation seemed on the precipice of exploding beyond control, with you wriggling and thrashing against his arms, employing a strength he couldn’t have expected amidst your sluggish state. You were shouting at him to stop intervening, though, he knew letting go meant you would most likely beat the girl’s breaks off.

Thankfully, at the nick of time, Mingyu had sprinted across the room, catching Bells' arm just before it lashed out in a strike.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Mingyu grunted while wrestling the smaller, feisty girl away despite all her manic squirming.

Wonwoo almost got nipped by the unbridled swinging of your elbow as he gritted through his teeth, “I wish I knew.”

He did know. However, it wasn’t the time to discuss it.

“Fuck! Just take Her downstairs!” The boy shouted.

Jesus Christ—that was easier said than done. Trying to haul you backward down a staircase as you twisted, kicked, and screamed a very colourful litany of profanities at your friend was the exact nightmare it sounded like. Vernon’s head had suddenly popped over the banister, staring down at you and Wonwoo, his eyes blown wide with pure befuddlement, as though he wasn’t sure if it was real life or a narcotic delusion. Princess had gone to help Mingyu calm down Bells. Seungcheol had joined the commotion, too, though he didn’t come across the most intelligible. His mind was all fog.  

And yet, somehow, Wonwoo managed to ply you away from the stairs and into the corridor with hardly a breath to spare.

—END OF PART III.

[redr0sewrites]

”want a pretty femme under me while i squeeze her neck and rut into her with my biggest strap” THE HARLEY QUINN COMMENT. i’m gone. No because she would want the biggest strap too UHDHSHH elaborate pls id love to hear that for research 😁😁

🥀A/n: im going to platonically kiss u through the screen for putting this in my inbox i literally need to elaborate AURGH SHES SOOOO

🥀(based off this post)

🥀Cw: smut, fem!reader, wlw smut, strap, soorta size kink, bratty sub!Harley

🥀men and minors dni

now, Harley is very intelligent, but you can't tell me Harley wouldn't be soooo bratty- just for funsies! like she would try her best to piss you off, make you jealous, tease you and act all ditzy and airheaded when questioned about it all in the hopes of getting fucked stupid- and it works!!

she's sobbing as your silicone dick splits her in half, pawing at your tits and toying with your nipples while you fuck her until she's babbling- she's loud too, all whiny and pissed about how your going too slow, not fucking her hard enough, and the only way to shut her up is a firm hand around her throat- and oh does she love it

i just know Harley would drag one of your hands (that were placed so firmly on her hips just moments prior) up towards her neck, begging you with wide eyes to squeeze

"are you sure?" "toots, if you don't fuck me right now i swear-"

she loves being gagged, manhandled, slapped and fucked silly. her fave position is mating press, solely so she can simultaneously watch your tits jiggle and your cock slide in and out of her pretty pussy!

i also think she's partial to doggy style, Harley has a nice ass and she knows it. loves when your forcing her to arch her back, her ass rippling with every thrust as she drools into the sheets, your strap so deep inside her she's seeing stars

size is definitely a factor for Harley- not only does she want your biggest strap, she would want your weirdest and kinkiest strap too. she would buy one of those ridiculous monster cocks, tentacles, veins, ridges, the whole nine yards, and would beg you to fuck her with it

"o-oh! ffuck me harder, can y-you? please-" Harley babbles, holding up her legs with ease as you fuck her cunt with your strap. the sloppy thwap! of her pussy squelching around your silicone dick fills the room, only fueling your lust.

you tighten your grip on her neck, watching the nasty grin on her face widen as she struggles to breathe. you both know she's aching to be marked, covered, and painted in bruises from your rough treatment, and your happy to oblige. tears stream down her face from the addicting mixture of pain and pleasure as her mind grows foggy from her nearing orgasm.

your free hand trails down towards her clit, pressing down hard on her aching pearl. Harley's eyes roll back into her head as she squeals your name, makeup all smudged from crying. the tightening in her abdomen is almost unbearable, she's so so close-

your pace slows, and your grip on her neck loosens enough for her to take a few deep breaths. she lets out an indignant whine, trying to rock harder against your strap, but you keep to your slower pace. it's not enough to push her to the edge, but not too little for her orgasm to fade entirely.

"how many times have you cum tonight, honey?" your words are sickeningly sweet, but she knows that this is a test.

"ssssix..?" Harley slurs, looking up at your face and giving a dopey smile. "your so prettyy, 'need you s'bad, i wanna cum," she pleads, rolling her hips against yours.

you chuckle, leaning down to kiss her before speeding up your pace, rewarding her for her correct answer.

"good job, baby, you did so good f'me. you can cum again, now, how many times will that be?"

"s-seven- ffuck-"

"oh, good girl-" you speed up even more, circling her clit with precision. Harley's thighs clench as the cord in her stomach draws taught, and then snaps. her sobs and moans fill the room as her orgasm ripples throughout her entire body. she screams your name like a prayer, pussy drooling all over your strap as she squirts, covering your lower half in her slick.

as she begins to come down from her high, you coo softly, waiting for her to come back to the present. you know she gets lost in subspace more often than not, and needs a few minutes to recover. in that time, you slide out gently, admiring the slick and cum coating your strap.

"you okay, baby?" you whisper, and Harley nods.

"mhm. c'mere, i wanna cuddle," Harley pouts as you shake your head, removing your harness and standing up. "we should clean up first, you made a bit of a mess," you tease, and Harley whines, but obliges. you lean in to press a kiss to her forehead.

"i love you, y'know that?"

"yeah, yeah, toots, i love ya too. now let's get a bath running, i feel a little.. sticky- bleh".

sorry this is lowkey short n the ending is horrendous im fighting for my life trying to characterize her ♥️ i love you harley quinn you deserve the world but you'll have to accept my mid fanfics instead 😔

[mischelmayleys]

CHAPTER 2

As Ingird let me through their apartment I noticed how spot on it was. Everything had its place and was dusted off. A cat came to sniff my legs as we entered, making me bend down and pat its fur letting out a soft smile at the bal of fur.

“Okay so your room is right next to ours so if you need anything you can just come to us.” Ingrid explained as she opened the door to the room.

It was mostly a bare room with a nice king size bed in the middle and TV right on the opposite wall. As we walked it I spotted the big window where in front of it was a dest with some plants and a laptop.

“We didn’t know if you needed a laptop for school or not, but we figured you can just use it for whatever you want. It has netflix in it as well as the TV.” Ingird explained, probably seeing me eyeing it.

I didn’t know what to say: “I…thank you.”

She smiled softly at me and went to put a hand on my shoulder which made me flinch: “Hey don’t worry I just wanted to dust off your top.” She pointed her finger on my shoulder which had a bit of blood on it from the fight yesterday.

“Oh, that’s just um…” I started to say but Maria came literally running into the room with my bags on her shoulders.

“I don’t know if Ingrid already told you but we can do whatever you want with the room, we can paint the wall or buy new sheets, some decorations?” She was rambling and it made me look at Ingrid for help.

“Maria calm down, she just got here.” Maria stopped talking and apologized.

“It is okay. Can I use the bathroom please?” I asked not knowing where it was.

Ingrid nodded and pointed to a door in the back of my room: “There, it’s just yours.” I stared at her in shock. Did I just get my own room WITH a bathroom?

“We will let you settle down a bit, if you need anything we are in the kitchen.” Maria said and they left me alone.

I breathed out as they closed the door and I looked at my hands. They were bruised and they hurt less than yesterday but it started to get worse again due to me picking up the skin on my fingers. With a shaky breath I went to the bathroom, and carefully washed my hands under the water. It stinged and I hissed.

I replied to the fight in my head, it wasn’t my fault…I was just protecting myself. I might not have friends in school but outside it was better. Rodrigo was one of my closest friends to many people. He seemed like a bad person, but he was a sweet guy deep down. We met when I was at my first foster home when I was seven and he was ten. I saw him in a park where he had just fallen from his skateboard and I went to help him and since then we were attached to him until he started to hang out with the wrong people.

He is twenty now to my sixteen, and still he is my rock. I came to his flat more than I was to my different foster parents. And the fight happened because of him.

Flashback:

I was sitting next to Rodrigo on a couch as he smoked some weed and I just casually smoked cigarettes. His other friends were split all over his place and just doing nothing at all.

“So…you ran away again.” Rodrigo said to me as he turned my way.

I nod: “Yeah, what was I supposed to do? Get myself killed.” he gave me a soft smile and put his hand on my thigh: “Don’t worry, you can stay here if you want.”

I chuckled a bit: “Nah, I don’t think your friends would appreciate me sleeping in here.”

“You are right, we don’t want this chick sleeping here.” Someone from the other side of the room yelled as Rodrigo went to stand up and defend me but I pulled him back down: “don’t.” He huffed and sat down but couldn’t keep his mouth shut: “Shut up Diego, you bring here sluts and I can’t have here my friend?!”

It was the wrong move and from that time on, one of the only things I remember is that Diego hit first. They were punching each other hard and somehow I stood up and went to split them up.

And that was when Diego grabbed me so to my self defense I hit.

The only other thing I remember is police breaking into the apartment and separating us from each other.

I shook my head as a shiver went down my spine. I stopped the water and walked back into my room and took it all in again.

The fresh sheets.

The Tv and laptop looked completely brand new.

There was a thing I didn’t acknowledge the first time.

It was a framed Barcelona jersey. It had Alexia along with the number 11 written on the back. Alexia…Alexia… I tried to think about where I heard it before. I took out my phone and went to google it until I realized I didn’t have any wifi or data. I sigh and go to the laptop placed on the table and carefully open it. It was connected to a which I assumed was Ingrids and Maria's wifi.

I opened google and wrote about Alexia Fc Barcelona. So much information came up, that’s when I realized it’s THE Alexia, which people in my old school were always talking about. Alexia was the best footballer in the world. It’s not like I didn’t know that Barcelona had a female team, I just never had the opportunity to see them play, I never had a Tv before or money to go to see them play. There was one picture that caught my eye. It was a full squad photo, that’s when I saw them…Ingrid and Maria both being in the picture dressed in their very own kit.

I am living with famous football players…

I didn’t know if that was good or not. They are probably going to travel all the time and not have time for me…great so no need to get close to them. Since they are public figures, they wouldn't hurt a kid…at least I hoped so.

I closed the google and leaned back into the chair. What am I supposed to do now? Unpack?

The question in my head was quickly answered when my phone ding with a message.

Rodrigo: Come over?

I pursued my lips and looked at the closed door and then out of the window. It had the railing and stairs there…great way for escape.

INGRID POV:

Eliza was quiet in her room, we thought she would come out by now to eat dinner, but we didn’t want her to feel pressured so we stayed at the table waiting for her.

Mapi was texting away on her phone when she suddenly put it down: “I am going to look at her.” I nod as I waited.

She came quickly running back to me.

I frowned: “Why are you running what happened?”

Mapi had a worried look on her face: “She is not in her room.”

I quickly stood up: “What do you mean? Maybe she is just in the bathroom.”

“No, she is not anywhere and the window is open so I think she sneaked out.” Mapi said as she sat down on the chair and put her head into her hands. I ran my hand through her hair.

“Well…we know what the social worker told us. We are going to wait for her return.” I said quietly not really believing we won’t go looking for her

[k4marina]

— celebration || s.r

synopsis: after another mission you and the 141 head to the local pub to celebrate another success however, simon has another idea of "celebrating"

warnings: smut, oral (male receiving), pub/drinking, light fingering idek if you’d call it that, hair pulling, can u even call is porn w/ plot?? UNEDITED lmk what else i missed

a/n: i had a whole thing written but then i scrapped it and wrote this instead. also this is the first time i’ve written smut sooo…. pls be nice. i promise i’ll get better

simon”ghost”riley x fem!reader

it’s dingy and cramped in the bathroom, the room lit up by a singular red bulb in the corner of the room, setting the ‘mood’ for the little room.

noise from the outside comes in muffled, like you’re underwater, everything blending into one another: the music, glasses clattering on the bartop, drunk and slurred speech.

and while it muffles the outside world, it amplifies what’s goin on inside two fold.

the wet sounds of you two kissing fill up the empty space, simon occasionally groaning, enjoying your lips on his own.

“down,” his hands work his belt while you obediently do as told, ever the good soldier you are. he pulls himself out, already hard. his tip and angry red and glistening with precum. he doesn’t have to tell you anything as you open your mouth, sliding his throbbing cock into your mouth.

his hand comes down to hold the back of your head, bunching up some hair into a makeshift ponytail, gently rocking his hips back and forth, letting you get used to the weight of him.

he picks up the pace, fucking himself into your mouth.

“that’s it.” his voice sends shivers down your spine and feeds into the ache between your thighs. “good girl, takin’ my cock so well in that needy mouth of yours.”

he’s ruthless, not caring if your gagging or not. he lets out a loud groan, brining our face in so your face was buried into his pelvic bone. his musk filling your nose, before your pulled back and allowed to breath again.

simon effortlessly pick you up, pulling down your pants and panties in one go. his fingers swipe down your folds and you let out a whimper.

“fuckin’ hell..” he groans. “haven’t even touched ya’ and your already drippin’ wet.”

he turns you around, chest planted onto the sink, your hand coming up to support yourself. simon lazily drags the tip of his cock up and down your wet folds. your slick makes it easy for him to slip in, slowly and painfully filling you in.

the airs almost knocked out of you as he bottoms out with a growl. he stays put, letting the both of you adjust to each other.

“fuck,” his hands grip onto your waist as a way to ground himself. “you’re so fucking tight, sweet girl.” he gently begins to rock his hips back and forth, lazily thrusting into you but enough that your moaning.

he’s so big that you can’t help but to feel him everywhere. simon picks up the pace and you drop your head down at the stimulation.

“nah-ah, can’t have you looking away now can we?” his hand comes up, pulling yours back up by the hair so your eyes can meet in the mirror.

the red light casted down his already tall stature, extenuating his features and painting his skin in a nice red. his eyes looked dark thanks to the lighting, reminding you of his skill plated mask and you could only imagine what it would be like being fucked by him in his gear.

simons hips snap against your ass, the lewd sound of skin slapping filling the small room. he fuck you at a brutal pace, pushing you closer to your high.

“fuck!.. ah.. simon, i’m close.” you barely were able to form a coherent sentence, feeling the familiar feeling of a coil forming in your gut, getting ready to snap.

one of simons hands slips from your hip and between your legs, rubbing fast circles onto your clit.

“thank it, baby,” his voice husky. “cum for me, love. wanna cum with you.”

his fingers continued rubbing your clit until you reached your high, your vision going white for a split second. your cunt fluttered and clenched around him sending him over his edge. with one last thrust he buried himself deep into you, hot ropes of cum filling you up to the brim.

you both panted, catching your breath. simon leaned over, softly leaning his chest to your back, giving your shoulder and neck light kisses. his grip on your hair and hip loosened.

once you’d caught your breath he softly pulling out of you with a groan. his cum slowly dribbled out of your sore cunt and he tucked himself back into his pants before helping you, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead.

once you’d fixed yourself in the mirror you two snuck back into the packed bar, grabbing a drink before going back to the table where the others were.

when you set your drink down soap and gaz gave you a shit eating grin.

“what?”

they looked at each other and then gaz turned back to you, “you’re glowing.”

your face turned red and you looked away, clearly flustered. the two laughed at your reaction.

“shut up,” you managed. “it’s hot.”

“oh i’m sure it was.. hot.” soap cackled.

before you could reply you felt a presence behind you.

“that’s enough mctavish.”

safe to say you weren’t safe from soap and gaz’s teasing for the remaining week.

i know i know i’m a bad person for not posting this sooner but i rewrote this like ten times bc i didn’t like it.

anywayz i’m working on requests rn so send some if you want. once i’m finished with that i have an idea for a series coming up so stay tuned ig.

[bippiti]

505 cl16

where you reminisce on your first love

wc 3k

an done for my 1.2k event! first fic in the series, lmk if you wanna be tagged and as always pls like + rb<3

(starts in 2014, ends in 2024ish)

i'm going back to 505

you rushed down the road, feet peddling as hard as they could as you biked down the street. your eyes glanced down to your watch, squinting before you read the time. great. you were going to be late.

you thought that was you’re biggest problem, and then a new one came crashing onto you, literally.

while you were busy checking the time, you failed too notice someone else running in your direction. you don't know what had them too preoccupied to notice you- but you could technically say the same thing about yourself so-

you were bought back to the moment by the stinging you started to feel on your knees, you hissed looking down and seeing red. ugh

you began to apologize, looking up and stopping mid sentence.

wow. he was pretty. really pretty

you slapped yourself mentally, wincing while standing up. it was definitely going to scar. you reached your hand down to help the mysterious boy up, who sharply inhaled when your hands met. he had scraped his hands up pretty bad when you guys collided.

"i'm so sorry again"

"you're completely fine, i should've been paying more attention" he said while laughing

he has nice laugh

"anyway, i think i should properly introduce myself, i'm charles le clerc" this time he was the one to extend his hand out

"y/n l/n, nice to meet you" you smiled as you shook hands

then you remembered what had gotten you into this mess. you checked your watch again. you were definitely late now.

"i'm so sorry charles but im running late to a painting class, i really need to go" you picked up your bike, kicking the dust off of it.

"wait i am too, are you going to mme. callarios?"

you looked back at him in shock. "how did you know"

he shook his head, "you're going in the wrong direction, since we're heading the same way mind if i show you?"

you didn't see why not, so he climbed in front of you and began to head towards your class

-

if it's a seven hour flight or a forty-five minute drive

the bike halted as you reached your destination. building 505. you stared at each other nervously before walking in. the class had started at 1pm, and it was nearing 2 when you arrived. granted, it was a 4 hour class but still.

you cringed internally as you felt all eyes on you when you opened the doors to the class.

"y/n, charles! great to see you. we've split up into partners, so you both will have to work together. decide who will be the painter and who will be the model for the first piece. switch in an hour and a half!" she explained quickly, ushering you both to the only empty table.

you both sat across from each other, and after a small game of rock paper scissors, you were adjusting in your seat getting ready to pose for the next 90 minutes.

-

when you look at me like that, my darlin', what did you expect?

you didn't know how you managed to keep a straight face, his stares were piercing into what felt like your soul. you knew that he had to be like this, he was painting you after all. but knowing that didn't help. after silently uttering some words of encouragement to yourself, you maintained a straight face.

after what felt like forever, you heard the timer go off, and with one last stroke of the brush charles was up and you were swapping places. you cracked your knuckles before sitting on the stool. this was gonna have to be the best painting you've ever done.

before you knew it you were hearing to now familiar ring as you finished off the details of his eyes. you stood up, backing away from the piece. not too bad you thought.

after everyone had finished, you went to the room across as they all dried. it was acrylic, so it wouldn't take too long. there were snacks and refreshments scattered throughout the space. grabbing a drink and seat, you started to learn more about charles. he had two brothers, one older and younger. his mom still cut his hair, you thought he might be embarrased but he showed it off proudly.

“all these years and she still hasn't given me a bad haircut”

“if my mom could cut hair like yours, i'd be getting it done by her too”

“you should come by her salon sometime, i think she'd like you”

“really?”

“yeah, she's out of town so next month when she's back”

with those plans made, you collectively went back into the painting room. you both swapped paintings and looked at them for a while.

you gauged his reaction, at first his face was blank and you were scared that you had made him look like a troll or something, but slowly a smile creeped up onto his face, he looked up to you.

“it's really good”

you smiled and looked down to yours, he had gotten your likeliness down to a t. he left clear marks and left the strokes visible.

looking up you saw him searching your eyes for a reaction, just like you had.

“you did so good, i love your painting style”

he seemed relieved when you said that, smiling. as everyone around you began to pack up and leave, you both exchanged numbers before grabbing your paintings and going your separate ways.

-

not shy of a spark

you had texted back and forth a lot since then, and soon enough you found yourself at the doorstep of his moms salon. after being welcomed in you sat down and showed her photos of the haircut you wanted. she nodded, and began to wet your hair

“charles talks about you a lot, you know”

“does he really” you said with a laugh

“he does, i think he likes you dear”

that shut you up, she smiled warmly

“at this age, love is everywhere, make sure you grab it while you can”

you left the appointment with amazing hair and a lot of questions, you didn't think he could possibly like you back. but now, who knows

the knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark

-

I'm going back to 505

you walk into the painting studio, excited with the a dragonfruit in your hand. today was still life day, normally you found it boring but mme. callarios had let everyone bring their own fruit.

you spotted charles when you got in, and lifted your dragonfruit for him to see. he put his hand up, showing off the orange he had started to peel. he tore off a piece for you, and offered it once you got closer.

your hand was cramping as your eyes continued to squint at the pink fruit in front of you. you regretted picking dragon fruit barely half an hour in, the seeds and the outer skin were proving difficult to paint accurately, you glanced over to charles, his was coming along nicely. you ended up pushing through the ugly phase and were somewhat proud of the piece. it had definitely been your most challenging one so far

-

If it's a seven hour flight or a forty-five minute drive

you were biking to charles' place, over the weeks you had both become closer, and he wanted to cook for you. you were somewhat scared, charles didn't seem like michelin star material, but maybe he'd surprise you.

he did end up surprising you, but not in the way that you thought.

pasta was on the menu for the afternoon, and you sat on the counter as he went around getting all the ingredients ready. basil, pine nuts, garlic, and olive oil were all pushed onto an island before he began on the pasta. getting out the flour and egg, he began to knead the dough together.

he looked nice in moments like this, comfortable. you liked to think that maybe you could see more of him like this, when he's quiet and the silence isn't awkward. existing together in his apartment kitchen. once he was done cutting the dough into pieces, he salted the water and dropped the pasta in. he came over to you and you both began talking.

you ended up getting so immersed in the conversation that the pasta was forgotten- at least until it was too late. you glanced over to the stove, eyes widening as you saw smoke rising from the pan. you both jumped up and yanked it off the gas, bringing it to the sink. what was going to be amazing pasta was now a charred rock. you couldn't help but laugh before getting side eyed by charles.

"i guess we're going to have to order pizza instead"

you ended up binging some random show you found on netflix, and as a souvenir took home the rock of burnt pasta, you named it char, short for charles charcoal

-

In my imagination, you're waitin' lyin' on your side

charles had become a f3 driver now, and hadn't been in monaco for a bit. you watched all his races, and you were the first person he called after his first win in pau-ville. he was excited, and so were you.

you're feelings for him had kept growing, and you couldn't help it, no matter how much you tried. you loved everything about him, his eyes, and how they'd light up when he saw you, his smile, and the dimples that formed when he did. his hair, his voice, just him.

soon enough he was back in monaco and you were excited to see him.

you grabbed coffee and began walking around the streets, stopping at building 505, walking into the currently empty studio. you looked around some of the paintings before sitting on some stools.

you knew him too well now, 3 years of friendship will do that. he was nervous, when he bought his hand up to his face you had saw he had bitten his nails. you didn't bring it up, but before you could say anything he started to speak

"i've been trying to figure out how i should say this for the longest time. i've known for a while now, but it really hit me in pau. i couldn't have don't any of this without you, i don't even think i'd be who i am without you y/n. and now that i'm back i can' t handle not telling you. i like you, i really like you"

you were stunned for a minute, before you kicked back the stool you were sitting in and kissed him. the puzzles had fallen into place, you couldn't believe it.

he deepened the kiss, bringing his hand to your waist as you sat in his lap. your fingers ran through his hair, tugging as you began to roll your hips against his.

you pulled away, panting. smiling at him before you began to kiss him again, his hands roamed down to your shirt, tugging it up as he separated from you again. you raised your arms, and took his off as well. a silent beat skipped between you both and you laughed

"are we really about to do this right now"

"yeah, i think we are"

you pulled him closer to you once again, his tongue slipped int your mouth effortlessly and you almost moaned, god he knew how to make you melt.

soon enough, the rest of your clothes followed suit and you were on the cool tile floor. as his hand started to trace your inner thigh you grabbed his hand. he looked up, somewhat confused but before he could say anything you spoke,

'i've never done this before"

he relaxes almost immediately, and smiles down at you

"neither have i"

you weren't ashamed to admit you were shocked, sopmeone like him.. never? not once?

he could see the gears turning in his head and he spoke up

"there were girls now and then sure, but i always wanted it to be you, it's always been you honestly"

you couldn't see yourself rn, but you were sure you were giving im heart eyes by now.

"it was the same for me too actually" you said sheepishly

"was it really?

"yeah, it was" and with that you bought your hands up to his shoulder, flipping him onto the floor. you kissed him softly, turning his face to kiss along his jaw, his neck, going further down to his chest, then stomach. pausing for permission, after seeing his nod you pulled down, eyes widening as you saw it. well this was gonna be interesting

you left kisses on his tip, working your way down before you took him all in your mouth. he hit the back of your throat and you almost choked, but hearing the moans coming out of his mouth kept you going. you could feel him start to pulse, and before you could do anything else he was bringing you off of him, kissing your lips as he turned you around.

“can’t have you doing all the work can i cher?” he said as he pulled your underwear down, almost moaning when he looked down at you, all of you.

he traced his hands down your sternum, down to your waist and legs. spreading you open he dipped his face down.

you could feel his tongue inside you, pulsing before he started scissoring you open. he was good- too good at this. you don’t know if you could handle it. soon enough, he was back on top of you, kissing you gently as he lined himself up with your entrance.

he cleaned you up afterwards, he was quiet, soft. you could get used to this

-

but I crumble completely when you cry

it had been months since that night, you and charles had been going strong, but after he joined f2, something changed. his eyes no longer lit up when he saw you, he started buying things for you instead of making them. you’d wake up to your phone being full of messages, but none of them from him.

it hurt. he hurt.

it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he called you, asking where you were.

you answered, mme. callarios’ place. he said he was going to be there soon.

you felt your heart drop, wether it was excitement or fear, you couldn’t tell.

you knew the minute he stepped through the door it was going to be bad. you could read him like a book. you composed yourself as he came closer, pressing quick kisses to the others cheeks, you painted a smile on your face and smiled at him.

his eyes were full of emotion, for the first time in months. it’s almost funny, you knew it was coming but the moment the words left his mouth you broke down

“i’ve been seeing someone else”

“i see”

at first it didn’t register, not really. a heartbeat later you felt the tears pricking at your eyes. you turned around trying to excuse yourself, but before you could take another step a sob escaped your lips. you started to cry. you couldn’t shut up, why couldn’t you just shut up? you could feel yourself gasping for breath, all the air in the world wasn’t enough for your lungs right now. you were getting lightheaded, knees turning shaky before ultimately giving up on you. the impact resonated around the empty room.

he stepped forward, kneeling down. his stupid, warm hands brushed up against your face, trying to wipe away your tears.

you couldn’t even push him off of you. you really were pathetic.

you managed to fight your way up, shaking and all but running out the door.

never again, you were never going to love anyone like that again

-

i’m going back to 505

you walked into a crowded room. your latest collection had been getting a lot of coverage in the media, and it was the last day it was up for the public. the pieces would be going to the individual buyers first thing tomorrow.

building 505. it no longer made a bitter taste seep into your mouth. it’s crazy to think a decade ago you were standing here painting him, how time flies.

the first few months were the worst. he was the only thing you could think of, you were a broken record. so naturally, you did the one thing that made you feel close to him again, painting. and it saved you

you could get out every thought you were too afraid to say out loud, every emotion you didn’t want to feel with simple strokes on canvas

you didn’t think anything would come of it, honestly. you were meant to go into investment banking, like your parents. the universe had other plans though

one of mme. callarios’ friends was a museum director, and took a liking to your pieces. he asked you to do some works on commission. word got around fast, and now you’ve made a name for yourself as an artist, in some ways all thanks to charles

charles. now he had his dream job, f1. working with the team he used to tell you about, the team he worshipped.

you were happy for him, sometimes you wonder if he was happy for you. you still think of him when you eat pesto, you still keep char in a jar under your bed, you have all of the paintings you made that summer in a closet collecting dust. there were pieces of yourself that you gave to him that will stay his even though you’re done.

none of that matters now though, you turn to someone who’s called your name and start explaining the piece they’ve asked about

[emmyrosee]

What’s up homeslice. I’m here because I’m on a Haikyuu bender and I know you’ve got the sweet sweet hookup.

So hear me out… I am a taller individual(5’8 to be more precise). We see a lot of content out there for ladies of average or shorter stature(I love all you small people out there, don’t you dare think otherwise) so I beseech thee: nishinoya, yaku, hoshiumi, Kenma, atsumu, hell maybe even suna. Any of these wonderful gents just being absolutely infatuated with a tall(ish) s/o.

If you don’t wanna do it, no worries my dude, I can smell what yer steppin in and I respect it, no problemo. Love peace and bacon grease my homie ✌️

Oh HELL YEAH MATE!!!! 5’9 representative 🥳🥳 also I want to eat this prompt for breakfast how could I NOT take it the hell you think this is??

Also as always my pieces are in timeskip but the gifs give me some organization so don’t @ me

-

Listen. Nishinoya would be in straight denial that you’d have reciprocated feelings for him because like. You’re you, okay; he worships the ground you walk on, but now knowing that you truly are into it, it increases tenfold.

“This isn’t even cat walking. This is goddess walking. This is queen walking. Here-“ he drops to his knees to give the ground, be it on cement or hardwood at home, a quick playful dust with his hands, shaking his head and relishing in the laugh you let out. “How could I possibly let my queen walk on the filth left behind by me?”

“Truly,” you snicker, and you lean down to meet him halfway for a kiss, which he rises on his haunches to reciprocate. “But I like your mess.”

“I like you,” he mumbles against your lips.

Yaku. My underrated loml. There’s minimal I wouldn’t do for this man. He’s so good to you and confident in himself that flirting with you came easy- turns out that you flirting back was his weakness.

He’s a complete victim of the psychology okay, you’re already taller than him, you already rock your height and are proud of it that you two just click.

And he’s so protective of you, it drives you wild; he knows your comfortable in your height, you far need him for protection, but that’s not the point. If anyone dare say anything about his beautiful lady, be it in any way but respectful, he truly turns into an attack dog, letting you watch in satisfaction as he completely tears apart whoever look at you the wrong way.

There was an incident you had to patch him up after a fight. But the way dazed and adoring eyes looked up at you, smiling a bloody smile and re-splitting his lip that almost makes his rare altercations worth it.

HOSHIUMI!!!! IS!!!! A NEW LOVE OF MINE!!!! CAME OUTTA NOWHERE FOR REAL!!!

And I so love to think he put the moves on you first, just flirting and sending you playful vibes because he’s a short king who’s confident in his height, and god it has you completely whipped.

He’s always so quick to hype you up in very Nishinoya-fashion, and he’s so unapologetic about having you on his arm, that anytime you enter a room, he not only opens the door for you, he steps ahead and yells out a swift “EXCUSE ME EVERYONE! Out of the way, please! Queen coming through!”

The sheer volume does have people parting to let you both come in, your hand laced with his and proud smirk on his face.

There’s very seldom a time that his cheeks aren’t completely painted with stains of tinted lip balms or lipstick, and he wears them like a badge of honor as you bend down to give them.

Woof. Atsumu. What else can I say about my pretty, goofy, dumb blonde?

What else can I say about the way he completely melts when you wear his jerseys, because they fall just slightly against your hips and when you reach up, a sliver of your skin comes out?

What else can I say about the way his eyes never leave you for long, be it when you’re in two day old sweats, or gown he splurged god knows how much on just to see you wear it?

What else can I say about how you rest your head on his shoulders while in line at the market, and he takes selfish inhales of your scent?

God. GOD.

Marking him up with lipstick and glossy marks isn’t foreign, even getting so cocky he merely taps his cheek no matter where you are, for a show offy kiss just to flex your height to everyone watching.

Okay. You know what’s up. Kenma is the og. He’s the number one. I LOVE this man. And he LOVES hyping you up in possessive, hot ways. For eXAMPLE, there’s a picture of you on his Instagram where you’re dawned in heels in preparation for a banquet for his sponsorships, towering over him with your back facing the mirror in your stunning form, and he’s merely smirking back into the camera. It looks chic, it looks smooth, and the caption has his entire fandom in a tizzy: “mom and dad say sit.”

Sure enough, when the comments are filled with suggestive comments and tons of “SORRY MOMMY-“ you scold him for his cheeky post, but secretly love the attention.

One time, you posed as Lady Dimitrescu, towering high over him, and he as Ethan Winters and by the time you woke up the next morning, it quickly rose to his most popular post.

What can he say? He likes being walked like a dog.

*sneezes* Suna’s is a lil dirty so minors pls go away for this part on, but here’s a Suna gif to make up for it

But. BUT-

I just relish in the thought of him not making you lift a finger; treating you like royalty for simply existing.

It’s why he never says anything as he sees you dressing up for sponsor events, instead guiding you to sit down while he fetches the brand new heels that go with the brand new dress he spoils you with. He tugs the seam of his pants up slightly before getting down on one knee and grabbing your foot and slipping the shoe on for you. His hands are gentle, and his lips leave adoring kisses along your knees and calves, tongue laving over your nylon covered flesh feverishly.

It makes you sink your teeth into your lip and tighten your thighs in need.

“You are fucking breathtaking,” he pants, letting his bottom lip draw along the length of your shin.

“I know, baby,” you whisper, matching his tone dominantly.

“You never cease to amaze me; made by the fucking gods, truly.”

“Rintaro-“

“Worship every inch of skin on this body-“

“We’re going to be late,” you snicker, rising to your feet and getting accustomed to the added five inches. He doesn’t move, merely smiling up at you, and you can practically see the invisible tail wagging behind him.

“I could stare at you forever,” he rasps. “I’d pay a sponsor to move his charity event if it meant I could rip this dress off you right now, make you scream my name.”

You giggle easily as he does, finally, get up, looking up at you with a bite of his lip. “If you behave tonight,” you begin, and he lets his eyes glaze over you one more time.

“I’ll let you.”

[bellesdreamyprofile]

a baby miracle: part 5

The first week home with baby Matilda was one of the most challenging weeks of your life. 

They sent you home after two days, right when you mastered your diaper-changing skills. The nurse was kind enough to show you as you had blushingly admitted never having done that before. Benny was right there behind you, watching you two over your shoulder. It shocked you - him wanting to be part of that as well. You looked at him from over your shoulder and caught the focus on his face. Once your eyes met, an unavoidable smile painted both of your lips.

You thought - that’s it! I got this. We got this!

Until baby Matilda started crying at two a.m. You got up from your bed and moved to the nursery with a heavy sigh. That was already the third time that night. It seemed more practical just to move in with her into the nursery. At the sight of your crying newborn, your heart broke in pieces.

“Hey, honeybee.”, you cooed in a soft voice, but her wails failed to cease. You gently picked her up and patted her back a little, moving to the rocking chair in the centre of her little room. “Alright, little honey. It’s okay. Mama’s here.”, and from that moment on, you tried everything to soothe the crying infant.

Diaper change, feedings, soft singing. Nothing worked for baby Matilda. Even her mama’s cuddles. And that frustrated you to the point of tears.

“C´mon honey.”, you quietly begged, rocking her from side to side. You were standing with her in your arms in front of the window, facing the moon in all its beauty. It was a truly beautiful night - something your little darling seemed not to care about. Her cries became little whines and turned into screams again, rocking the entirety of your little home.

“Hey bee.”, you heard a voice from behind you. You turned around and spotted a messy haired Benny, the sight tugging at your heartstrings. “The little honeybee is already becoming a little troublemaker.”, he smiled a little and walked towards the both of you.

You would’ve smiled if Matilda hadn’t been screaming for hours. “She ain’t no troublemaker. I just can’t get her to stop crying.”, your words were a little whisper as an exhausted sigh followed immediately afterwards.

“I can help, baby.”, Benny delicately placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed it. “You’ve fed her, right?”, you nodded tiredly. “You must be exhausted… I’m sorry I didn’t wake up earlier. Couldn’t hear from the couch.”, his voice held remorse and you were perfectly aware that he didn’t mean to hold this arrangement against you - but you were tired.

His lips touched your temple, your eyes closing for a split second. “Let me hold her.”, and as delicately as he had held her at the hospital, Benny’s arms welcomed little Matilda once again. His dad-mode was full on - his warm arms cradling her little body as little words escaped his lips with his feet rocking them side to side. His blue eyes were solely fixated on her, watching her cries turn into little whines.

A small smile made its way on your lips at the sight of him like that. Old, white t-shirt, messy blonde hair flying in different directions and sleepy eyes gazing lovingly at your daughter. Your heart skipped a beat.

Benny’s eyes fluttered to yours, his own little smile appearing at the sight of yours. “You can go to bed, honey. I know you’ve been up for a while.”, he said softly.

You blinked at him and smiled in gratitude. You glanced at your baby and almost got jealous of the way she just passed out in her daddy’s arms. “Guess she just needed her daddy.”, you mumbled and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Thanks Benny.”, your lips twitched as you were hesitant about the signals your heart was sending to your brain. You wanted to kiss those soft, pink lips. You wanted to act like those little families in those silly shows you watched. But instead you leaned in and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek. 

Benny’s eyes widened at your gesture and you could swear you caught him blushing in the moonlight. He looked over to you and smiled a little.

“I miss you, baby.”, he murmured still holding the eye contact. You stared back at him with tired eyes, not being able to give him more than that. You so badly wanted to lean into your instinct, kiss him, hug him and love him as much as you did. But if you did that, how could you be sure that Benny would learn from his actions?

You sighed and delicately placed a hand on his cheek, unable to fight the urge. “I know, honey.”, his eyes fluttered shut at your touch. Benny couldn’t remember the last time you touched him as lovingly as you did now. At the hospital? When he held your hand to help you walk to the front door? He didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter because your hand was on his cheek now. It was enough - it had to be.

He dared to tilt his face so that your palm was pressed to his lips, giving him the perfect opportunity to kiss it. His eyes opened again, only to find you teary eyed before him.

“I love you.”, he murmured, against your palm. The words were very clear above your daughter’s soft snoring. Oh, how painful it was to look into those eyes and see a mix of love, pain and remorse. But you had to stay strong—

You pulled your hand away and finally pressed your lips to his. All the tension and stress automatically melted away and god, if it wasn’t for baby Matilda in his arms, Benny would’ve pulled you to him and never let you go.

He felt his own tears form in his eyes and his emotions all over the place. You pulled away, but Benny couldn’t end it there. He knew you would pull away and regret your own actions, going to bed with a storm going on inside your head. Benny pressed multiple kisses to your lips, searching for hints of love and care. How could you say no to him?

You couldn’t, but his daughter did by stirring in his arms.

Benny let out a low groan, making you chuckle against his lips.

“Lil´ girl—“, you shushed him and quietly told him to set her in her crib. Benny did as he was told, eager to find out what was going to happen next. As he turned around he spotted you by the window, the bright moon illuminating you beautifully and that was when he realized something.

You kissed him. He kissed you. That was the first kiss as the mother of his child.

You smiled at him and shyly looked down, feeling like a teenager all over again. Benny caught your familiar expression, taking him to memory lane as he met you for the first time. 

After a rough day, he walked into a café where the sweetest girl asked for his order. And once his coffee was ready, that shy, little thing spilled coffee all over him, unable to mask her own emotions around him. Yet he couldn’t be more grateful for that coffee stain. Because now you were standing there.

It was like he was looking at her all over again.

Benny’s finger curled lovingly under your chin, meeting your shiny eyes again. He bent down and kissed you just like you had kissed him before. Once he pulled away, his eyes found comfort in yours yet again.

“I love you.”, Benny repeated those little words again.

The honesty and firmness didn’t take you by surprise. For you knew that Benny felt with all his heart. So you didn’t struggle when you confirmed your own love for him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love you.”, and pressed your lips to his again.

It was all going to be alright.

A/N: thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed xx also I listened to can't help falling in love by elvis and the royal philharmonic orchestra 🎀

MASTERLIST PART 6

Taglist: @leonesimp @cwallace02sblog @alexa4040 @notaceventura @wonderland2425 @thefastclownprince @ughdontbeboring @imusicaddict

[katyaromanoffpetrova]

What if... they don't run together?

Instead of going on the run together after the Accords, Natasha and Katya split up for safety reasons. They barely see each other. Until Kat surprises Nat on that ferry to Norway.

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC • Wordcount: 1.2k • Warnings: angst • A/N: one of my favorites :) Masterlist

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

The ferry gently rocked side to side as it glided across the water, the salt air filling Katya's lungs as she walked across the deck, hiding deeper into the hood of the thin coat she stole off the back of someone's bike. 

Nobody looked at her. She was just another passenger shielding herself from the wind—safe from the gun tucked into the back of her jeans and the knives hidden in her boots, but nobody knew that. They were too busy with themselves to notice a single woman disappearing towards the toilets. 

The silence was intense when Katya closed the outer door behind her and found herself in a lower part of the deck. A long corridor stretched out in front of her, small, circular windows giving her a view of the sea to her left. She slid the hood off her head, keeping her face turned away from the camera in the corner.

Natasha wasn't on her A-game. Katya hadn't had a difficult time following her onto the boat and into this corridor. Way too easy for a woman running from one of the most powerful governments in the world. Her wife was slacking. Or, her body didn't register Katya's presence as a threat. 

Katya looked for the bathroom signs and found them halfway down the hall. Not a bad place to hide, Nat, she thought. No cameras in the toilet. She silently made her way over until she stood directly in front of the door for the women's toilet, her heart slamming against her ribcage with anticipation. 

The tap was running. She could picture Natasha standing there, washing her hands, freshening up. Trains, boats and airplanes always made her wife anxious if she was on the run. For a given amount of time, you were stuck on them. That knowledge was enough for Katya to finally knock on the door.

The tap immediately closed, followed by a long, tense silence. Katya knew what Natasha was doing; getting her gun from her pants, clicking the safety off, and getting ready to yank the door open at once to catch her off guard. 

Honestly, it was a bit cruel. Katya could say something to let Natasha know it was just her, but she wanted to see the surprise on her face. Anxiously, she wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans, realizing too late that she didn't bother to fix her appearance. 

One moment, she was staring at the faded sign on the door, and the next straight into the barrel of a gun. Katya didn't jump—unlike her heart. Instead, she looked past it, at her wife's utterly shocked expression, and painted a small smile on her lips. 

Natasha looked worse than the last time she'd seen her. Her skin had always been pale, but it looked translucent now. The dark circles under her bloodshot eyes stuck out like blood in snow, and her lips were dry and chapped. Even her hair looked dull and lifeless, hanging in an unkept bun.

The gun clattered to the ground. Natasha grabbed Katya's wrist and yanked her into the toilet, locking the door behind her. They nearly stumbled over each other's feet in their desperation to be close.

''Oh, my god. What are you doing here?'' Natasha breathed in disbelief.

Tears squeezed Katya's throat closed. ''I needed to see you.''

Three months of no contact was utter torture. No way of knowing where Natasha was, if she was still alive, how she was doing. It ate Katya alive. Sleep came less and less easy for her, despite getting more and more exhausted every day. Her nails were bitten off, her hands were constantly trembling, and her mind had a fog lying over it that was probably dangerous, given their situation.

Katya's body collided with Natasha's when the redhead pulled her into her chest, her fingers digging into Katya's shoulder blades like she hung on to her for dear life, suffocating Katya in a hug so tight it nearly stopped her body from shaking.

Katya sighed deeply, allowing herself to relax for the first time in three months. If it weren't for Natasha's death grip, she would have collapsed right to the floor. Her legs couldn't keep her up anymore. The comfort of her safe person, the presence of her invading all her senses, rendered her completely useless as a human being. Tears leaked from her eyes in a steady, silent stream, carrying months of anxiety and stress out of her body.

They didn't say anything, but they didn't need to. Actions always spoke louder than words.

When Natasha finally let her go, Katya saw that she was crying, too. ''Did something happen?''

''Yeah, I spent Thanksgiving with a bottle of Vodka until I passed out,'' Katya joked weakly, but it was the truth. It should have been spent with everyone, with the person she was most thankful for in this life. Instead, she'd been thankful for the alcohol blurring her thoughts enough to fall asleep for ten hours.

Sadness flooded Natasha's features. ''Where have you been?'' She muttered, wiping Katya's tears with the pads of her thumbs so delicately that only more tears followed.

''Up in Denmark, I think. Honestly, everything starts to look the same. I think I'm going insane." Katya chuckled humorlessly. "My pills ran out and I haven't been able to get new ones.''

Instantly, she was pulled into another hug. Less tight this time, but still enough to heal some broken parts from her. ''Stay. Stay with me for a while.'' Katya heard the determination in Natasha's voice, the tears blurring her words. ''The cabin I'm going is so secluded we could hide out for a couple weeks.''

Katya's stomach dropped. She wanted to. Actually, she thought she was going to die if she didn't stay with Natasha. But two people together were easier to find than two individuals. ''You know we can't stay together," she whispered heartbrokenly.

Natasha pulled back enough to look in her eyes, silently pleading with her. ''Just for a while.''

It was impossible to ignore how broken she looked, her cheeks red from crying. This was what the government was hunting; a pair of broken people who had a harder time seeing the point of living every day. ''A few days,'' Katya hesitantly gave in.

Natasha nodded reluctantly, her hands finding Katya's cheeks to pull her in for a kiss so delicate she nearly collapsed again. Her tears trickled onto Natasha's hands and down to their lips as they moved with melancholy and tenderness. This couldn't fix her broken spirit or mind, but it mended her soul just a little bit.

''You know we're only making this harder for ourselves?" Katya muttered, her eyes closed as her forehead rested against Natasha's. "Every time we part, it gets harder. The smart thing would be to never meet up.''

''When have we ever done the smart thing, though?" Natasha responded, a small smile on her lips that quickly faded into a look of soft adoration when Katya opened her eyes. She shook her head, as if she couldn't believe herself how much she loved her wife. "I love you so much.''

''I love you, too," Katya choked out, diving forward to press her lips against Natasha's again, pretending that for a moment, all was right in the world.

~~~~

Please reblog if you liked! It helps me a lot :)

[pearlessance]

32:1 - Idle Threats [x]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel builds the heaven you've granted him.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap(32yrs), mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, reader has added backstory to progress the plot, themes of forgiveness

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

Blessed is he whose disobedience is forgiven.

Ellie stays at the farmhouse for the first couple of weeks and Joel’s grateful for it. The two of you get along so well that he can even hear you both laughing in the front yard from the bedrooms upstairs. And Joel knows you need it; the laughter, the company, the distraction. 

Because every night, he holds you in the bed you’d taken from Jackson and lets you cry into his shoulder over your loss. 

Maria’s decided to let the both of you come and go from the commune as you please, but she refuses to say a single word to you. It’s her who gives the silent treatment, now. And although you’re aware the traumatic bond the two of you formed is better off severed, Joel knows it must hurt regardless.

“She was all I had for such a long time,” you whisper into his shoulder on the fourth night. “I know it’s for the best but I…I miss her is all.” 

Joel helps you through it as best as he can. He listens to you whenever you’re ready and willing to speak, and remains patient with you when you grow angry and lash out at him over small things that don’t truly matter. 

“It’s okay to miss her,” he says gently. “But I’ll never let her hurt you again. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again, little girl.”

You and Ellie get the front porch fixed up and find a set of old, rickety rocking chairs in the attic in the barn. Ellie paints a meadow of lavender on the freshly painted white siding. She’s showing Joel all the small details, the stems that alternate between the colors of jade and emerald, telling him how she’d painted it first in blue to set the undertone when a familiar truck pulls up the long driveway with a trailer hitched to the back. 

Tommy is a welcome sight, in truth. Because the house needs a lot of work and his brother’s hands will cut the time in half. But, more importantly, his presence will cut Joel’s stress in half, too.

Still, he catches the way you look at the passenger side of the truck with hopeful eyes and watches your face fall when you notice it’s empty.

Tommy hugs you and Ellie and lets out a deep sigh when he wraps his arms around Joel’s shoulders and claps him on the back. “Good to see you, brother,” he says. And it is. “Brought y’all some things. Come take a look.”

The trailer is packed full and so is the back of his truck. You and Ellie tear into its contents, giggling all the while. Most of it came from the white house on the corner in Jackon, Joel knows. Most of it’s yours.

Not much work gets done on the first day. Joel and Tommy work on carrying in the heavier stuff; the weathered, handmade dresser, the round mahogany table with matching chairs, and the box full of kitchen utensils and towels. Joel’s most excited about the generator, though. They bring it out back and vow to hook it up first thing tomorrow morning.

The four of you split the two rabbits Joel caught in his snares and you and Ellie throw strands of pasta at the wall to ‘check if it’s cooked,’ but Joel thinks it’s just for your own amusement because the both of you laugh maniacally every time it sticks to the wallpaper.

You eat together and laugh together and for the first time, Joel feels warm. He feels whole. Complete.

After you and Ellie both go to bed, it’s just Joel and his little brother sitting at the table. Tommy stares hard at the glass of iced tea in his hands and says, “I know it’s, uh…I know it’s just a short drive, an’ Ellie’s got the guest room but is it cool if I crash on the couch for a while?”

It feels like old times. Feels like before. Joel knows there’s something left unsaid in Tommy’s words but thinks he might already know. It’s not his place to force the words out of him, though. So Joel just nods and says, “You’re always welcome to it. You know that.”

“Maria an’ I…we talked. She, uh…told me what happened. Told me the full truth. About what he…what he did to…”

“You see now, don’t you? Why I couldn't let it go on? Why I couldn’t let Maria look at her like that? She didn’t do anything wrong, Tommy. Compared to what we’ve done…she’s innocent.”

An innocent little girl who’s only ever harmed those who’ve harmed her first. Self-defense isn’t malice. It’s not rage or wrath. It’s a learned trait, a taught skill.

Tommy nods slowly and takes a sip from his glass. “I, uhm…need a place to crash for a few days. Some space.”

“Like I said, you’re always welcome here.”

When he crawls into bed that night, Joel holds you extra tightly. Because the moment he snakes his arms around your waist and you turn to face him, your eyes well up with tears as you say, “She’s only sending him with my stuff, Joel. She’s trying to erase me like I never mattered.”

He didn’t see it at first and is a little surprised to admit it. But hearing the words come from your mouth clears the fog in his brain because you’re right. Joel can see the subtle stroke of manipulation when he imagines that house in Jackson you lived in for so long, sitting empty. 

There’s nothing he can do but hold you and let you cry and promise it will be okay, so he does. He tells you he’s here with you, reminds you that you’re a person and not some mistake made on paper, reminds you you’re not erasable. But when your breath evens out and you fall asleep, Joel leaves the bed to open the window for some fresh air to soothe the anger that rises up in him. 

Still, even miles away, even after this big, impactful change of life, Maria has still managed to hurt you in a fresh way. Joel knows he can’t protect you from everything. Knows that being hurt is inevitable, but he wishes so badly that he could take it all on for you. Shoulder the burden to ease your strain.

He’s only just begun creating this life with you and already he begins to wonder if he’s failing. If he’s already failed.

Joel hears your bare feet pad across the creaky wooden floor seconds before he feels the palm of your hand against his spine. You slide your fingers gently beneath his t-shirt and the touch grounds him, brings him back, reminds him he’s doing what he can and that it’s enough. Reminds him that no matter where he goes or what he does, you’re with him. 

His.

You press your cheek to his shoulder and he turns to pull you in close. When you tilt your head back to look up at him, he knows what you’re asking for, knows what you want. He presses his mouth to yours and thinks you taste like sleep and sunshine and solace.

He finds his own sort of peace in your body, in the way you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper, in the way you press your lips to his shoulder to quiet your moans. He tells you he loves you while he’s deep inside you and knows without a single doubt that you’re the one salvation he’ll ever be allowed but knows, too, the sin of taking you has been worth it.

When he finally falls asleep, it’s to the rhythm of your heartbeat. He can feel the steady thump, thump, thump through your sternum that’s pressed up against his ribcage. The vibration of your mercy, your clemency, your forgiveness reaches down to his bones. 

Tommy stays for seventeen days. 

They finish repainting the siding, fix up the plumbing and electrical, patch the holes in the drywall, repair the gate in the back yard, build a water system connected to the river in the woods, and start cleaning out the barn in preparation for livestock. 

You and Ellie make a run to an abandoned hardware store for gardening tools and return with an entire stockpile of seeds and rakes and hand-sized tillers. The two of you are mapping out the size of the garden when Tommy says to Joel in the back of the barn, “Been a long time since I’ve seen that look on your face, man.”

He knows exactly what he means but asks anyway. “What look?”

Joel follows his brother’s gaze that lands on you. He watches, in complete awe of you, as you throw your arm around Ellie’s shoulders and smear the dirt on your forehead against her cheek. She’s laughing and trying to push you away and all Joel can do is smile, feeling himself settle, feeling roots growing from his feet into the very ground he stands on.

Tommy shrugs and uses his shovel to lift more stale hay into the wheelbarrow. “Since I’ve seen you happy.”

At first, the urge arises in him to argue with his brother on this. But then he realizes that Tommy’s right—because Joel has never felt anything like this before. Never changed his course so dramatically to make room for someone else in it.

Not since Sarah was born. Not since he met Ellie.

He swallows and says with his eyes focused on the rake in his hands, “I see so much of myself in her at times. Angry at the world, at what it’s become. She might not remember things like they were before but she’s had to go through hard lessons like we all do and it’s made her do cruel things. Violent, even. That’s not the only thing she is, though. Never been the only thing she is.”

Tommy stares at his brother for several seconds without saying a word. And then he confesses, “Never thought she was in the wrong about it, y’know. About Thomas. But I wasn’t…uh, I wasn’t there. When it all happened, you know. Can’t say much about somethin’ I didn’t know much about. But with what I do know now, I can’t say I’d do anythin’ different. If it were…I mean, if it were our Sarah. If it were Ellie, you know?”

The sound of her name feels less like a knife these days. He finds instead it feels good to hear it, feels like remembering, like healing. And though Tommy doesn’t say the words directly, he understands what his brother’s trying to say. Knows Tommy, too, would kill the man who tried to harm an innocent little girl.

Joel thinks about those men in the warehouse. Thinks about what he would do if it were you in your sister’s place and knows he would’ve killed Thomas even slower than you had. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

Ellie returns to Jackson with Tommy a few days later. It’s a bittersweet moment, in truth. Because Joel knows she needs to do this, needs to get out on her own, become her own person now that she has someplace safe to do so. But he can’t deny the urge that rises up in him to ask her to stay.

He doesn’t, though. He lets her go, knowing she’s safe in Tommy’s hands, knowing she’s safe because Joel taught her to take care of herself. He has full faith in Ellie and he has full faith in the two of you.

There’s still a lot of work to be done. Seeds to plant, rooms to clean out, wiring to the generator, walls to paint and pictures to hang. The two of you settle into a routine.

Somehow, you’re always awake before Joel. And every morning he makes his way downstairs to find you sitting on the porch with a warm cup of tea in your hand and the sunlight casting shadows on your face. You always smile when you see him and stand to your feet to give him your chair. 

There are two of them, but only one ever gets truly used. You sit in Joel’s lap, and he holds you and the two of you talk about your plans for the day. You’ve been working tirelessly in the garden, hanging flowers and herbs to dry over the porch railing, making lists of canning supplies to pick up from Jackson or on your next run. Joel’s been repairing the barn, sawing down trees in the forest and rebuilding cracked beams to restabilize the structure.

On one morning in particular, you let him sip from your cup and say softly, “Thank you.”

He presses a kiss to your jaw and wraps his arms a little tighter around your waist. “For what, sweetheart?”

“This,” you reply. “For the home we’ve built. For…I don’t know. For you.”

“Me?” He doesn’t understand, but he tries to.

“Just for being who you are. For loving me still. Thank you.”

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know that it’s ever been a choice for him. Joel thinks he’s loved you since the moment he’d first laid eyes on you, thinks it was always meant to be his fate to find you. “I always will,” he promises. And he means it.

When the barn is fixed Joel builds you a greenhouse. 

You’re more than happy to assist him when needed, and listen to him talk about this, that and the other. Once, without even realizing, he talks to you about how drywall is made and why it’s sometimes called gypsum board or sheetrock for an entire afternoon. You don’t complain, not even once, and he wonders why but then realizes he’d let you talk about anything under the sun for an entire afternoon, too. 

In June, Ellie and Tommy visit and they bring guests. In the back of the truck is Bonnie and her son Sam, as well as Greg, Mike who has a ziploc bag of coffee grounds,  and his wife, Stella, who carries a plate of strawberry scones. 

There’s also the addition of four lambs and six chickens. 

You greet and hug and thank everyone for coming but when you hug Ellie you let out this girlish giggle that brings him so much joy he thinks his chest may burst with it. The two of you bring the lambs and the chickens to the barn and Sam and Bonnie help you set out feed and fill a trough with water from the stream while Joel and Tommy start a bonfire in the backyard. 

Everyone gives the two of you updates on Jackson. They tell you about how Miley’s made a full recovery and Maria’s due within the next week. They tell you that Kelly and Abel are an item now and they like to flaunt it for all of Jackson to see, that the Tipsy Bison is getting an upgrade after Jesse had discovered a distillery on a run.

You and Joel both are showered in compliments about your new home. About the garden and the greenhouse and the barn. Mike and Joel talk for an hour about Joel’s newest project, inspecting the half-hollow body of an acoustic guitar.

Tommy and Greg leave the group for a short hunting trip and in the twenty minutes they’re gone manage to return with a deer. You roast venison over the bonfire and everyone eats standing with their plate balanced in one hand, talking and laughing.

Joel catches your eye in the cacophony, and for a moment you just stare at each other from across the yard with mirrored grins. You look so beautiful in your pretty sundress and bare feet. There’s a leaf suck in your hair and venison grease on your fingers and Joel fights the urge to kick everyone out early so he can lick you clean.

He loves you more than he’s loved anything in all his life, and it’s this precise moment where he thinks maybe there is no such thing as acceptance into heaven. Maybe the devil and his pretty, perfect Judas possessed enough love for one another to create it on their own with greasy, calloused hands and broken hearts. Maybe he’s been wrong this whole time and he’s never been cursed, never been punished for his sins. 

Because how can he stand here in this home he shares with you, surrounded by the people he loves, feeling the presence of those he’s lost in the wind, and say he’s cursed?

Joel Miller feels like the most blessed man on the face of the planet.

Just before dark, they all pile back into Tommy’s truck with full bellies and smiles on their faces. 

And the minute they’re down the long drive way and the lambs are safely in the barn, Joel’s hands are slipping beneath your dress. He squeezes the soft flesh of your thigh and you giggle into his mouth, kissing him deep, letting him invade your body, your mind, your soul. 

He lifts you into his arms with the intent to take you to bed but then you wrap your legs around his waist and rut your hips against him. Pretty, desperate little girl wants him just as bad and who is he to deny you?

Joel lays you down in the grass, pulls your panties to the side, and takes you right there beneath the summer sun. He pushes your legs up to your chest and holds your knees apart, watching himself disappear inside of you, encouraged by the sweet moans you make.

“Gonna take real good care of you, little girl,” he says, circling your clit with his thumb. And he means it now and forever. No more silent vows, no more internal battles—you’ve become everything. “Always gonna take care of you. Keep you real safe, baby. Make you feel real good.”

Your pussy constricts around him as your orgasm feathers through you and he follows you off the edge at the sound of the words I love you in your mouth.

When he pulls out of you, Joel uses his fingers and pushes his spend back inside. And even though he knows it’s impossible, for the first time in the last thirty years he wishes it would take. Wishes he could get you pregnant, wants to see you barefoot in the garden with a belly rounded with his baby.

But it’s impossible and he knows it. This is enough, though. The two of you and a couple of lambs.

Even though your thighs shake, Joel fucks you with his fingers until you’re writhing again before he helps you to your feet and heats up water for a bath to get you clean. 

Joel finishes constructing his guitar. He plays the chords to Stairway to Heaven from the backyard and can see you begin to sway in the kitchen through the screen door. He plays a little louder and swears he can hear you humming the lyrics and the elation hits him like a fucking freight train. 

Because when he’d first met you, you’d been callous and rude and brash. You’d lashed out at him and Maria and Tommy and anyone else who stood in your way. You’d bitten off every hand that tried to feed you because those that tried had never tried again after feeling the sharpness of your teeth. 

But Joel had. He tried a hundred times and still kept coming back for more.

And now you stand in the kitchen you built together, swaying your hips while canning the vegetables from the garden you watered to feed your family through winter. The sun is shining and he’s playing his guitar and you’re singing.

It took blood and guts and tears, it took a war to get here, to find peace, but you did. Fought tooth and nail for it, bled and lost and died for it.

Joel had done all he could but it was you who held the cards, who had all the strength. Not him.

And you’re singing.

Joel’s eyes fill with tears before the song’s over and when he goes to sleep that night he finds he can breathe a little easier. 

He learns that Stairway to Heaven is your favorite song because you ask him to play it all the time. Joel never gets tired of it. 

On the first day of August, Tommy comes to visit. You come rushing out of the front door, excited for Ellie to see how big the lambs have grown. Only, this time, Ellie isn’t sitting in the passenger seat. But Maria is and she’s holding a bundle of blankets close to her chest. 

You freeze on the last step of the front porch and Joel stands from his chair, on the defense before the truck is even in park. 

When Maria sees you for the first time in months, her face falls and she begins to weep.

No word is said, but you’re suddenly running through the tall grass in the yard and you’re throwing your arms around her and her new baby, an immediate exoneration that Joel’s not sure he trusts.

It’s a girl. They name her Olive. “Like that olive tree in the bible mama always used to talk about. It means forgiveness,” Tommy says.

You’re infatuated immediately. Olive’s a smiley baby, just like Sarah was. She doesn’t cry even once while they visit, while you give Maria a full tour of every room in the house and of the garden and the greenhouse and the barn.

“She’s been wanting to come for a while,” he tells Joel. “Just wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it. It’s been real hard on her since you guys left. I didn’t wanna say anything, cause, well…you know.”

He does know. Tommy didn’t say anything because Joel had no interest in hearing it. No sympathy at all. “Look, I’m…I’m real glad they’re getting to see each other. Even happier to see my niece. An’ you know that Tommy, but…they can’t ever go back. Not to the way things used to be. I won’t allow it.”

Tommy’s eyes soften. “I know that. Maria knows it, too. I’ll admit, I wasn’t always the loudest advocate for you two but I’m glad things worked out the way they did. Glad she’s got you. Glad you’ve got her.”

Tommy takes his daughter from you with some convincing to give Joel a turn.

He cries when he holds her.

She’s so small, so soft and delicate in his arms. Olive reaches a hand up and tugs at the wiry hairs of his beard and he laughs until his stomach hurts. He bounces her in his arms and gently runs the pad of his index finger down the bridge of her tiny nose.

“We should talk,” Maria says after some time.

Tommy takes Olive from Joel’s arms. “I’ll, uh…give you guys a minute.”

Maria sits on one side of the table and you and Joel sit on the other. The tension is thick in the air, so much so he thinks he may be able to cut it with a knife. She clears her throat and opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

Joel wonders how hard an apology could be for something so horrific. If he were in her place, he thinks it would come easily. He knows his face is contorted into a scowl but he can’t bring himself to smooth it.

She tries again. This time, her voice is successful. She looks only to you and admits, “I want you to know that I have never blamed you for the loss of Sarah. I feel that is most important for me to say.”

His jaw ticks.

“It always felt like you did. I blamed myself enough already.” Your voice is so timid and mousy, such a stark contrast to the confidence he’s grown used to.

“I know, and I’m so, so sorry for it.”

A start, Joel thinks.

“I know I didn’t want to believe it at first,” she says. “About…about Thomas. I never would have imagined he’d ever be capable of such a thing, but I…looking back, I see there are things I’ve missed. And I hope you know that if you had just come to me before you…if you had—”

“Careful,” Joel says lowly.

You take his hand in yours beneath the table.

Maria swallows and straightens her spine. “I’m sorry,” she says again, tears welling in her eyes. “I was angry, hurt. My entire world had imploded and then to lose Sarah, too, I couldn’t…” She shakes her head. “I needed you after losing them both. But I was furious with you for not trusting me enough to believe you.”

“You didn’t believe it,” Joel states. “And you made her out to be some sort of villain in front of everyone. Being angry is not an excuse.”

“I know,” she says. “You’re right. And I admit, sending you out on these runs was selfish and horrible. I know it. But I do love you like a daughter. I love you as much as I ever loved Sarah, more, even because of the loss we share. Your absence has been…catastrophic. Please, I…I know I can never take back the things I’ve done but I would like to work towards something. If you’ll let me.”

“I didn’t deserve what you did to me. The burden you put on my shoulders,” you say. The confidence has returned to your voice, the surety. It puts Joel at ease to hear it.

“No,” Maria says. “You’re right. You didn’t.”

“But she would hate us for this.” Your hand trembles in his. You reach your other hand out and lay it on the tabletop, palm up and open. “I have to cut some vegetables for dinner tonight. Would you like to help?”

Maria takes your hand and a tear slides down her cheek.

You turn to Joel then, and ask, “Can you and Tommy bring in some rosemary and thyme from the greenhouse? I’d like a second alone with Maria if that’s okay.”

He doesn’t trust it. Not at first. Because without him at your side to mediate, to keep you safe from the harsh things Maria has proven herself capable of saying, who will protect you from her manipulation?

But then you squeeze his hand in yours and Joel reminds himself that he has faith. Faith in you, in what the two of you have built. He knows you’re capable of fending for yourself. And, more than that, he knows should you falter, he’ll be wherever you fall to pick you back up.

Should you forgive her, he’ll be at your side. And should you decide to keep your distance, he’ll be there just as well.

He finds Tommy and Olive near the barn. The two of them talk over how the conversation went and Joel admits he’s weary of the truce the two of you’ve come to. He holds Olive while Tommy picks a handful of herbs.

When they return to the house, Maria takes the infant from Joel’s arms and says softly, “Thank you. For making me see the error of my ways. For being for her what I never could be.”

It’s going to take time for him. You might be able to forgive her after a long talk and some time away, but Joel isn’t so easily swayed. 

And he thinks Maria knows it because as they’re leaving to return to Jackson that night she nods and says, “I’m really sorry, Joel. To you as much as to her. I’m going to try and make this right. For what it’s worth, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this happy.”

He looks at you as Tommy holds you in a tight embrace, at the way the two of you have such an ease with one another. He looks at Olive and the way she stares up at her mother as if she put the stars in the sky. “It’s not me you’ve gotta make it right for,” he tells her.

“I know. I’m going to do everything I can to prove it,” she says. “You’ve built a beautiful home here.”

When they leave, you melt in Joel’s arms and he carries you to bed and rubs your back as you cry.

But Maria keeps her word. She brings Ellie and Olive to the farm twice a week every week. Sometimes they bring trinkets or gifts or supplies from Jackson, other times they leave with vegetables from the garden or fresh baked bread. She never raises her voice at you, never asks anything of you other than, how can I help? Tommy becomes Jackson’s most frequent runner, but he oftentimes will stop out to see the two of you before he goes anywhere and the farm is his first stop on the way back. 

It takes time, takes a bit more watering and sunlight, but eventually trust begins to take root.

A snowstorm hits in December. It takes out the generator, leaving the farmhouse dark for most hours of the day. Joel tries to fix it but after a few hours in the cold, you tell him to come back inside, that in a few days you’ll take a trip to Jackson to get tools to repair it. 

You make the most of the darkness. You light a fire in the hearth and sleep on the living room floor. You play rummy a hundred times and Joel lets you cheat for every game just to see the smile on your face when you beat him. He teaches you how to play poker and you use walnuts as chips.

He discovers you have the best poker face he’s ever seen. And when he’s backed into a corner, unsure whether to fold or to put in all his walnuts, Joel gives up and throws his cards down, and crawls to you instead. He pushes you back against the mass of blankets and pillows brought down from the bedroom, forces your legs apart, and devours you. He licks and sucks at your clit until you’re crying out for him. Until you’re crying out for God.

He doesn’t know why he chooses this moment, but he does. 

“I want to marry you,” he says with his head between your thighs.

“What? What are you…?”

With his mouth pressed to the inside of your thigh, he says it again. “I wanna marry you, little girl.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, brows furrowed in confusion. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. He leans back down and runs his tongue through your wet heat, delighting in the way you shiver and shake with just a single touch. “Want to give you everything.”

“You’ve already given me everything,” you say. Your hands tangle in the roots of his hair. “This is everything. You are everything, Joel.”

He slides his finger into you with ease. You’re dripping for him, slick coating his knuckles and spilling out of you and onto the blankets. “Wanna give you my last name, too,” he says. “Want you to be my little girl forever.”

“I already am,” you say, and it sounds like a promise.

The words make him groan against your skin. I already am. Of course you are. You’ve always been. 

Joel makes you finish on his mouth one more time before crawling up to you and pulling you close. Before he has a chance to lay his head down you’re asking through panting breaths, “Did you mean it?”

“‘Course I did.” He presses a kiss to your hairline that’s dotted with sweat. You stay silent for a moment, and Joel finds that it doesn’t frighten him. Whatever your answer may be he’s content with. Satisfied, happy. As long as he gets to hold you like this there’s nothing else he’d ever need. 

Still, he can’t deny the excitement that courses through him when you say, “Okay. We’ll go to the chapel when we get to Jackson.”

While you sleep, he carves two identical oak rings to perfectly fit on your ring fingers. He stains them black, seals the wood, and fries eggs for breakfast to present them with. He asks if you’d rather wait and put them on during the ceremony or if you want to do it now. 

“We should do it now, don’t you think? Just the two of us.” 

He puts yours on for you around a mouthful of scrambled eggs and a smile so wide it hurts his cheeks. When you place Joel’s ring on his finger, it doesn’t feel out of place or foreign on his hand. It feels like taking off an uncomfortable piece of clothing after wearing it all day, like kicking your feet up and laying your head back. It feels like coming home.

The moment is intimate and he knows he’ll always remember it, always hold the memory close. He finds himself missing it even while still living it, finds himself wanting to stay in this little happy bubble with you forever.

After breakfast, you’re readying yourself for the journey to Jackson. Bundling up in warm clothes, tightening boot laces, filling canteens. But then the front door is ripped open and on instinct, Joel grabs his rifle from the side of the bed. 

“Joel!”

Tommy’s voice is frantic. The both of you are at the bottom of the stairs in a second. 

His brother lets out a sigh of relief and doubles over with his hands on his knees. “Oh, thank God. I thought the storm might’ve taken out the farm.”

Joel doesn’t understand it at first. But when the three of you climb into Tommy’s truck and head to Jackson, he realizes just how fortunate you’d gotten. 

Less than a mile away, there are downed trees on every side of the street, thousand-year-old trunks severed in half. The abandoned buildings between the farm and the commune have been demolished, splintered into a thousand tiny pieces. 

Somehow, you’d been left untouched. The generator was the worst of it.

For the first time, he wonders just how safe you really are. He’d brought you to the farm, away from Jackson, to protect you. But there are things he can’t fight against. Beasts he has no business battling. He wonders if the two of you should abandon the home, the heaven you’ve created in order to ensure your safety.

You’ve gotten lucky twice now. He knows there won’t be a third time.

You reach through the space between the driver and passenger seats and grip Joel’s hand in yours. He can feel your ring press against the palm of his hand and it grounds him, pulls him out of his head. With your free hand, you hold the cross necklace you’ve never taken off since he’d given it to you in that church and say, “I know you don’t believe in God much anymore, but I think something has been looking out for us.”

At the chapel, Tommy stands beside Joel and Ellie stands beside you. Dina takes pictures on an old Polaroid camera. Half of Jackson sits in the pews and there’s so much joy and laughter in the day that Joel wonders if he deserves it. 

But then you look at him, slide your hand into his, and press your cheek to his shoulder. You say, “I love you,” as if it’s the simplest, easiest thing you’ve ever said. As if it’s second nature. You don’t fight it, don’t hesitate or second guess. You say it because it’s true. You, an innocent, love him.

Joel Miller thinks he might be worthy of forgiveness after all.

[part nine]

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